A Scandal In Belgravia
by AllesandraQuartermaine
Summary: Part 1 of A Different Take Series. A murder of a rich man's wife. Sherlock&John are let in, because of Sherlock's past with her, while recovering from their run in with Moriarty, plus figuring out what the other means to them. Irene Adler PLETE
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**I have an Author's Note below, some very mild spoilers for season 2. Just so you know. But general information first:**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the first episode of Season 2. Plus the appearance of Irene Adler.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**A Scandal In Belgravia is Moffat and Gatiss's take on A Scandal In Bohemia, which brings in Irene Adler. Since we all have to wait for the show, I have my own impossible wish list when it comes to this, so I figured I write it out.**

**If you want the long version of my author's note, go ahead to the bottom of the chapter if you like, I don't want to put anyone off nor offend any shippers of Irene Adler/Sherlock Holmes. But here's the short version: Irene Adler will not be a romantic interest in this story, nor will the story be a romance.**

**I imagine Moffat and Gatiss have their own twist on the tale, no doubt.**

**Until this episode airs however, I am simply going to let my creative muses take me down a path of possibilities, like we all do.**

* * *

><p><strong>A Scandal In Belgravia<strong>

**Date: August 21st, A little over three months since The Great Game**

**Setting: Belgravia, London.**

**Place: The Berkley Hotel- The Chelsea Suite**

**Time: 5 pm **

* * *

><p>She stares at the phone in her hand, debating about whether to send the text or not.<p>

It was stupid to come to London. Stupid to let Kendrick talk her into coming. She should have insisted on staying in the States, letting him go on his own.

But no, she stupidly thought it would be safe. After all it had been almost four years. People would have forgotten.

That was her first mistake.

Thinking that people would forget.

Some people have long memories.

So already in trouble, and only been in London for three days. She begged off going with Kendrick to his celebrations, saying she wasn't feeling well.

She didn't even have to act like it. She wasn't truly feeling well. The pit in her stomach since.. he...

She takes a deep breath.

He can't risk doing anything, that was the problem. Not without it getting out, something he fought so hard to contain in the first place.

So could she contact the one man she knew that could possibly help her?

Would the man help her? Considering how things were left the last time they spoke, she doubted it. No harm in trying.

The woman takes a deep breath and starts the text.

_Sherlock. It's me. I'm in London. We need to talk._

She doesn't sign her text as she sends it. The man would know who it is.

Twenty minutes passes with no response. Twenty long minutes.

"Damn the man." She mutters, opening up her phone again to send another text.

_Please Sherlock. I need help. You're the only one._

That ought to get his attention, pique his interest.

Five minutes later, there's a buzz on her mobile. She touches the screen.

_NO. Help yourself. I'm not going to get caught up in your games._

_SH_

She lets out a shaky laugh. Oh God.

This is no game.

She bites back the urge to cry, gripping the phone in her right hand hard. Needing a drink, she moves to the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the rug, only to still at the sound of a click.

Not just any click.

She looks up, and dread hits her hard as she sees the gun. Bright green eyes meet furious grey eyes.

"Hello."

"Just hello is it?" She asks shakily. He was good. She didn't even hear a knock on the door. "How did you get in?"

He smiles cruelly. "I have my ways."

"Of course."

"Stupid of you coming back here."

"I know," she says simply. Nothing she has in her tricks will help her here. She hasn't used them in over three years.

He cocks the gun. "For what it's worth, this is going to hurt me more than you."

* * *

><p><strong>Two Hours Later: 7 pm<strong>

Kendrick Kingston, of Kingston Computer Technologies lets himself in his hotel room, As he passes through the main sitting room, he glances briefly into the bedroom, where he sees his wife laying across it.

"Adrianna, how's your stomach? Everyone was asking about you. I know you aren't feeling well, but you should come down to the party," he calls out, setting down the bouquet of roses he bought, and then slips off his jacket, laying it on the back of the sofa.

He frowns as there's no answer. Not even the sound of breathing.

"Adrianna?"

He turns and look into the bedroom. She's still laying there.

Deep inside the back of his mind, Kendrick senses something is not right. He walks up to the bedroom's entrance. "Adrianna what is-" He stops dead in his tracks, his stomach clenching a the sight before him.

His wife of two and a half years, on the bed, with a bullet between her eyes.

"ADRIANNA!"

SH  
>SH<br>SH  
>SH<br>SH  
>SH<p>

**Longer Author's Note:**

**Here's the bit that got me a bit long winded, and apologies in advance, once more:**

**Irene Adler. She showed up in one book of Sherlock Holmes, and after that most people and movies (including the Robert Downey Jr one) seem to take her as a love interest of Sherlock Holmes. The actual book she appeared in never actually portrayed her as one from the discussions I've been involved in, and what I read about A Scandal In Bohemia. She's simply just someone who was able to outwit Sherlock, and being able to do so, Sherlock admired her for it. In a later book he remarks how a couple men and one woman have bested him, referencing Irene Adler.**

**No one knows what the creators of BBC Sherlock are going to do with Irene Adler of course, but there is the fear of turning her into an love interest for Sherlock. An understandable fear at that considering how she's been portrayed as.**

**In BBC Sherlock, the creators have made Sherlock as someone clearly not interested in physical sexual relationships, that a girlfriend is not really his area and he's married to his work ( From "A Study In Pink" episode 1), it's evident that it would seem out of character for Sherlock to honestly and suddenly become involved in a sexual, physical relationship with a woman without a lot of growing up to do and developing on his part.**

**I do see this version of Sherlock, who can be quite the actor (as evident in The Blind Banker and The Great Game), to fake a relationship with a woman for the work, to solve a case he's on. Again I do not see an actual relationship with the opposite sex working, and I have no problem with the idea of Benedict Cumberbatch's Sherlock not having one, as it would seem a huge leap for someone who considers himself a "high functioning sociopath" to leap into something like that so quickly. So far John Watson has been the only one who seems to have been able to secure a spot in Sherlock's life and become of any influence over the erratic, eccentric madman genius.**

**So apologies for the long Author's Note. Just needed to air it out. On with the story shall we?**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Revelations<strong>

**Location: The Berkeley Hotel, Chelsea Suite**

**Time: 7:30 pm.**

* * *

><p>"What time did you last see your wife Mr Kingston?" Detective Inspector Lestrade asks the shaken American in front of him as his team processes the scene.<p>

"I uh-" Kendrick Kingston rakes a hand through his hair, visibly upset. "Around two this afternoon. I just finished the deal and everyone was going to celebrate. Adrianna complained about her stomach and head. She hadn't been feeling-" He pauses, takes a breath, and exhales. "She hadn't been feeling well since we came here. So I walked her here, told her I'd come back around seven to check on her."

"Do you have any enemies Mr Kingston?"

"Plenty, but none of them are here. All of them in the states, rivals you know? But I can't see them- see them doing this.. not to her. She is a good person." He pauses. "Was a good person."

"So she had no enemies that you know of?"

He shakes his head. "Everyone home loves her," he flinches, "loved her. I thought that maybe coming to London would be good. She lived here for a few years before coming to the States."

"What the bloody-"

Detective Inspector Lestrade looks up sharply at the sound of Donovan's exclamation, which she cut off wisely. He frowned as she was looking at a mobile. Mrs Kingston was clutching her mobile in her hand when she was found.

"Apologies Mr Kingston, I best go see what Sgt Donovan found." He turns to another Sgt on his team and nods to him, letting him finish with the question of the husband.

"Donovan!" He hisses. "What on Earth?"

"Sorry, Detective," she says sounding properly abashed. "But we got a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"You'll want to see what's on this." She holds up the mobile.

Quickly Lestrade gets his gloves on and takes the phone from her.

"Look at the two sent messages. And the one that she received minutes before she died," Donovan says, her tone neutral, although her expression is hostile.

Lestrade checks the messages. And each one makes his heart sink.

_Sherlock. It's me. I'm in London. We need to talk._

Bloody hell, she knows Sherlock.

Talk about what though?

And how did he know her?

No response to this text. He checks the second, sent twenty minutes later.

_Please Sherlock. I need help. You're the only one._

There's a response to this one.

_NO. Help yourself. I'm not going to get caught up in your games._

_SH_

Okay.

So.

Sherlock knows Adrianna Kingston.

Adrianna Kingston knows Sherlock.

Adrianna Kingston knew her life was in danger. She texted Sherlock.

Sherlock refused. And from the message, he thought it was one of her games.

There was some sort of history between them, and not a good one it seems.

"Bloody hell," he mutters.

"I hate to say this, Detective Inspector," Donovan speaks up, sounding like she really hates to say it, "but you need to call him and bring him here."

"He's still not completely recovered from the blast," he murmurs. Last time he saw Sherlock, his arm had almost completely healed. It had broken, and was supposed to be healed completely in July, but due to a complication, the healing took a bit longer. The man no longer had the cast on, but it was in a sling.

"He can walk and talk, he's recovered," Donovan says annoyed. "She texted him before he died. He has to be brought in."

"What have you done with Sgt Donovan?" Lestrade asks curiously. "I would like to have her back."

She sighs impatiently. "Look, he's a Freak. We all know he is. He's an arrogant git. But I'm not blind sir. I saw how he was after he and John Watson escaped that blast at the pool. He hasn't shown up at any of our crime scenes in ages, and I doubt very much a broken arm would have stopped him. But he can't stay away from this. It's either you bring him in, or someone else arrests him for being an accessory."

* * *

><p><strong>Time: 8:25 pm.<strong>

**** oooOooo****

"Ridiculous," Sherlock mutters as John gets out of the cab, holding the door open for him. The tall consulting detective straightens as John shuts the cab and pays the fare.

"What is?"

"Being blackmailed into coming to a crime scene."

"He didn't blackmail you Sherlock. He told you that it would be best if you came due to the apparent connection to the victim," John counters. He and Sherlock had this argument in three different ways since the DI called them.

"And left the implication of what would happen if I did not, hanging," Sherlock adds as a door is opened for them and they enter the hotel.

"Well it's about time we came to a crime scene," John murmurs. "The summer's been long."

"I've been able to keep myself occupied."

Oh yes. With endless research on Moriarty.

John's leg twinges a bit at the thought of the man and he forces himself not to limp. He's recovered fully from the few cuts and burns and the cracked ribs he got, and Sherlock would have recovered fully too if he had bothered to properly take care of himself. As it is, once he can have the sling removed permanently, he'll have to have some physical therapy to get his arm back up to shape, and John sees that is going to be an uphill battle.

"What floor are we going to?"

"Chelsea Suite," Sherlock says as they get to the lift. He presses one button. "Already know what floor," he adds, pressing the button.

"So how do you think you're connected?"

"No idea."

John raises an eyebrow. "What, no theories?"

"Not enough data to work on a theory."

John doesn't push, knowing that pushing will just make Sherlock more irritable. It doesn't take long for them to get to the required floor, and they are soon met by Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Doctor Watson," he greets him. "Sherlock. Glad you could make it."

"Of course," Sherlock says with exaggerated politeness. John shakes his head and puts on the coveralls.

"The husband has been taken to another room, and I've had everyone be careful where they step, and no one's touched anything, well except for the mobile," Lestrade says as they enter the large expensive suite.

* * *

><p><strong>oooOooo<strong>

"Mobile?" Sherlock asks as his gaze zooms in on the bedroom just fifteen feet away.

"Yeah, her right hand was clutching it."

Sherlock hears the differences in Lestrade's words, tone of voice as he talking about the mobile. Ever since he got the call to come here, he's had a very uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"Sherlock, about the mobile-"

"Who is she?"

"Adrianna Kingston, the wife of billionaire Kendrick Kingston. They've been married for two and a half years. They were here because of some sort of big business deal that Kingston's company was doing with another computer company here."

Sherlock nods, and heads into the bedroom, noticing Donovan, who looks away from him. No remarks from Donovan, although as Anderson passes him he hears the usual muttered remarks about his character.

But all thoughts on Anderson's lack of morals flee through his mind as he sees the woman in front of him, laid out on the bed, dead.

And Sherlock knows why he was called in. Her mobile.

She texted him.

They would have seen the texts.

Logical assumption one would make is that he had a hand in her death.

"What time was she found?"

"She was found at seven by her husband. Time of death however puts it at quarter to six."

Sherlock runs his eyes over the scene, the manner in how she is laid out on the bed, the closeness of the gunshot.

No self defense marks.

She knew her killer.

And she didn't fight back.

She did not try to run.

"Sherlock-"

"Yes, I know, you saw the texts," Sherlock interrupts before Lestrade could ask his insane and boring questions.

"Texts?" John. "What texts?"

Sherlock turns to face his friend and colleague. "She sent me two texts earlier. I ignored the first, and replied to the second."

"And she was killed a few minutes after your reply," Lestrade says bluntly. "Those texts make it seem like you two knew each other, Sherlock."

"We did."

"You do?" John asks curiously. Then Sherlock sees the sympathy and he feels irritated at first by it. "I'm sorry Sher-"

"Don't," he says quickly. "We knew each other, but there is not liking between us."

"If I was anyone else, I would take that as a confession," Donovan speaks up. Sherlock ignores her.

"She knew her killer. And was apparently resigned to her fate. No self defense marks, and the expression on her face is of one who knew what was coming."

"Sherlock-"

"How do I know her?" Sherlock interrupts again. He sighs. "It's a bit tricky, but the first thing you must know is Inspector, is that this is not Adrianna Kingston. If you do the proper research you will find out that all her documents stating who she is are false. When you run her fingerprints you of course will find out her real identity."

"What? Are you telling me that this woman-"

"Was a con artist. A very good one. Well was a good one."

"If she's not really Adrianna Kingston," John speaks up then, and Sherlock focuses on him. "Then who is she Sherlock?"

Sherlock closes his eyes. Detach yourself. Remain detached. Do not get emotionally involved. Cannot do the job correctly. Remove emotions.

"Irene Adler."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: For future reference so no one gets confused:<strong>

**When I change the pov to someone else during a chapter this will be shown: oooOooo**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them. <strong>

**Chapter 2: The Revelations Continue**

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: Close to 11 pm.**

* * *

><p>John enters the DI's office with a cup of tea, handing it to Sherlock. "Come on. And none of this transport business."<p>

Sherlock rolls his eyes, but John smiles as the man takes the proffered cup and he sits down in the other chair.

When Sherlock revealed the real name of the woman, Lestrade looked like he was going to have a migraine. He told the two of them to get to NYS while they finish processing the scene.

"What do you think Lestrade is going to tell the husband?"

"No idea. Not my problem."

"She texted you for help."

"I know."

"You didn't believe her did you? That she needed it."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his tea. "Irene was a con artist. Her job was to lie and play tricks. I didn't want to get wrapped up in whatever was going on."

"And now you are," John says simply. "She's dead and you're here."

"Even in death she's a pain in my neck," he mutters coldly.

John winces. "Rather harsh don't you think?"

"So?"

"Sherlock-"

"Don't start John, I'm not in the mood to hear it," Sherlock cuts him off as the door opens once more and Lestrade comes in, looking weary and tired.

"Well you were right."

Sherlock smirks. "Of course I was."

"Her fingerprints came back as Irene Adler. Quite the sheet she has too. Apparently though there's nothing about her going back nearly four years ago. She changed her appearance, not a lot, but enough to make people probably second guess themselves if they saw her. The last thing mentioned on here was her being arrested for assault, and that was almost four years ago, on September twenty seventh."

"Assault?" John asks curiously. "Don't con artists tend to avoid physical situations?"

"Yes that is a general idea. But charges were never pressed though."

"I didn't feel it was necessary."

Both men look at Sherlock with surprise. "She assaulted you?"

Sherlock sighs and John inwardly smiles at the man's resigned tone as he speaks. "Hardly. She punched me. A police officer was nearby at the time, so he arrested her."

"Any reason she punched you?"

"She didn't care for my terminology towards her."

John didn't want to know what Sherlock called her, and it looks like the DI didn't either.

"So she was a con artist. According to her husband, she wasn't very keen on coming back to London, and she hadn't been feeling well the entire time she was here. Pretty much stayed in their suite."

"She didn't want to risk being seen by someone who might know her. As you said, she only slightly modified her appearance, enough to make people second guess. Someone apparently recognized her like I did."

"She had a lot of enemies?"

John watches Sherlock then, at the expression that crosses over his eyes and then finally a faint smirk appears. "Yes. Considering she was quite the ambitious con artist."

"Ambitious?"

"She aimed high. Went for those who had more money than they knew what to do with. Looks like she finally succeeded in her goals though, with snagging one of the wealthiest men in the United States."

"But they've been married for two and a half years. Isn't that a rather long commitment?" John asks then. "If she was going to get as much money as she could for him, she would have done a divorce as soon as possible."

"Prenup may prevent it, you may want to look into it," Sherlock tells Lestrade. "Her marriage may have been her retirement fund, all she had to be was be patient. Wait it out. She had no history in the States really, except a brief failed run at being an actress... which I cannot fathom since she had such excellent acting capabilities."

"Obviously," Lestrade murmurs.

"Have you told the husband yet?" John asks.

"Not yet. The husband could have known though, be the actual killer."

"He's not the killer," Sherlock counters. "I saw him when I was coming in and when we were leaving. Grief is real. He had no idea about his wife. If you don't mind Lestrade, I would like to go home and I'm sure John would too, as he has to get up early tomorrow to go to surgery."

"Yeah, fine. But Sherlock, we need to know what kind of history you have with this Irene Adler, other than her punching you for insulting her."

Sherlock just huffs at that, gets up and goes out the door.

"Hold on, John before you go," Lestrade stands as John does. "How are you two doing?"

John blinks. "How do you mean?"

"I mean with everything. We haven't seen each other much since that incident with the pool."

John instantly clamps down on a memory that threatens to spill forward. "We're fine. Just.." He closes his eyes and sighs. "We're fine."

"Are you sure?"

"No," he admits. "But you can't help, I'm sorry Lestrade. This is between Sherlock and I."

Lestrade nods. "Just.. if you two need anything-"

"Thanks." John cuts him off before he can finish and leaves the Inspectors office, knowing he'll have to run to catch up to Sherlock, but surprisingly he doesn't as Sherlock is sitting on a bench instead of hailing a cab.

"I could kill someone for a cigarette."

"Where are your nicotine patches?"

"Out," Sherlock says and sighs almost dramatically.

"We'll get some on the way back then." John raises his arm then, and shouts "Taxi!"

As luck would have it, one actually appears. Usually that just works with Sherlock. They get into the cab.

"How's your arm?"

"Aching."

"You haven't been taking your pain medication?"

"Stupid question, John."

John sighs. "Sherlock, it's supposed to help-"

"It dulls the brains, slows it down. Need to think, especially with a new case."

"So you're taking it?"

Cool blue eyes meet his. "You sound surprised."

"It's just you've turned down every case, from the police and others ever since you've been able to get rid of the crutch."

Sherlock had badly sprained his leg during the pool incident, and it was less severe of all the injuries, but it had taken three weeks for it to heal enough for Sherlock to walk on it without the use of a crutch or wincing in pain.

"Nothing has been interesting," he says flatly.

"Right."

"Not now, John."

"I am going to get you about it later," John warns. "So are you going to take this because of guilt?"

He's met with another sharp look. "Guilt? Whoever said anything about guilt?"

"I just did. She came to you for help."

"And now she's dead, so I must feel guilty?"

Any normal person would, John thinks and instantly winces at his thoughts.

"We've established I'm not normal John," Sherlock states with a touch of amusement, apparently able to read John's mind.

"Sorry. I mean-"

"Don't be sorry."

"Right." John inhales, then releases. "It's not your fault."

"I know it's not."

"And neither is Moriarty kidnapping me."

The mask descends then, and John knows he pressed too much this time. But at some point their going to have this conversation.

Deep down, John thinks he has the answers. He's not quite sure, but he's about ninety five percent sure. He saw a side of Sherlock that day that was different from any other day.

And he's sure Sherlock is trying to come to terms with that.

They were in the hospital for a few days after the standoff. John doesn't remember much, all he knows is that the bomb didn't go off, but something else happened. John was in a coma for only two days, suffering only a couple fractured ribs, and a whole lot of bruising and some cuts.

Sherlock was a different story.

He was in a coma for a whole week and a half. His right arm broken in three places, bruised, cut, and bloody as John was, severe sprain on his right leg. At first there was worry about brain trauma, something that truthfully terrified John.

But somehow Sherlock was lucky. No trauma to the brain, other than a concussion. He hadn't changed a bit temperament wise once he was fully conscious. He terrorized the nurses, and had to be restrained from leaving. It took having John come talk to him to get him stop acting up.

John discovered though Sherlock had no liking for hospitals and wanted out as soon as possible. John had to contact Mycroft of all people for help, and whatever Mycroft had done, an arrangement was made that Sherlock could finish recovering at the flat, as long as he listened to John,

And John seemed to be the only person the temperamental man would listen to, even if it was a trial to get Sherlock to do what was needed to recover.

"You have my mobile?"

John's thoughts scatter as Sherlock's voice resonates. "What? Oh yeah," he reaches into his pocket and hands it to Sherlock.

Admittedly, Sherlock became resourceful with only being able to use one arm. He was able to work it out on his mobile and laptop within a couple days, setting up a system.

"Are you going to tell me about you and Irene?" John asks. "Before Lestrade that is."

Sherlock smiles, a genuine smile, but doesn't look up from the mobile. "You just want to know so you can see if I give Lestrade a different story."

"No," John protests, but silently he does think Sherlock would give an edited account to Lestrade, but be truthful with him, at least he hopes so.

"It's a long story, John."

The cabbie pulls up to 221B Baker Street, and this time John takes Sherlock's wallet, takes the money out and pays the cabbie, before getting out, waiting for Sherlock to do so. When he does he places the wallet back as the man continues to do whatever with his mobile.

"So? I have time."

"You have to go to surgery tomorrow, early. And this will be a long tale I think."

"You're stalling," John says flatly, going up to the door.

"No, I'm not."

"Then why-"

"Because I will need your mind refreshed and alert when I tell the story, and it has been a long night. You need sleep. And my arm is aching so I'm not in particular mood to weave a tale."

John stays silent for a minute, processing that. Then gives Sherlock a no nonsense look. "All right then. But you will tell me before you tell Lestrade."

"Of course."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: And soon to have more on the way! If you want, please review, as they are like candy and I can't help but enjoy each one, no matter the form. :) <strong>


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them. **

**Word Count: 2,404**

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010. I also edited a date in a previous chapter to keep in line with what I had going on further in the story.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Previously: In the wealthy district of Belgravia, London, a murder took place and Sherlock was called in. A connection between Sherlock and the murdered woman was revealed, as well as the woman's true identity. <strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3- Reflection<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: Almost 2 pm**

**Date: August 22, 2010**

* * *

><p>Lestrade checks his watch. Mr Kingston should be arriving in the next hour, and he's been working on how to break the news to him about his wife.<p>

Especially now that he has everything. As he told Sherlock last night they got enough to validate his claim, but even more information came in over last few hours.

Irene Adler apparently was quite the woman in her life.

Which just makes him all the more curious about Sherlock's connection to her.

Couldn't be an actual relationship. He knew Sherlock's views on having relations.

Not his area.

The only relationship the man had that was constant was with Doctor John Watson.

Did a case put Irene into Sherlock's path?

Lestrade frowns and goes through the files on his desk, until he finds the one that mentioned her being arrested for assault, which was against Sherlock as it seems.

The date jumps out at him.

_September 28th, 2006._

Lestrade frowns. Why does this feel familiar?

September. 2006. For some reason it's pricking the back of his mind, saying it needs to be looked at.

He's not sure why. 2005 always stuck out for him more. He met Sherlock on the twenty ninth of January in 2005. He will always remember that day. Most people always remember the day they meet Sherlock. He doesn't let you forget it.

He also remembered another date. The twenty second of May.

Hard to get that one out of his head. Sherlock was in a hospital bed, recovering from an overdose. For a moment Lestrade thought he had the wrong room the consulting detective looked so different. Lestrade finally had enough and gave Sherlock an ultimatum the next day. Get clean, stay clean, or no more cases. As it is, he wasn't going to send any his way until he has good proof the young man is.

He didn't hear from Sherlock again until the fifteenth of September. Until then it was as if the man dropped off the earth. No sign of him anywhere. He showed up at the crime scene, eyes clear, no indication of any high, an even cooler and colder demeanor than ever before. Lestrade was talked into letting him see the inside of the scene and the body.

Five hours later they had a suspect, the evidence in his flat, and a full confession.

Lestrade stopped by Sherlock's new flat after that. They had a discussion, Sherlock said he was clean, but Lestrade saw a few packages of nicotine patches. Sherlock didn't reveal where he went, what happened, or who helped him if he had any help. Point of the matter was that he was clean. And he wanted to work.

Lestrade took the chance. He was desperate. The lack of closed cases in Sherlock's absence was evident. He was a good DI, (still is) his people were good,(still are) but it took longer to close most cases without Sherlock's help.

However, with the good, came the bad. A clean Sherlock Holmes was harder to deal with than a high Sherlock Holmes. If one could believe that.

High, Sherlock was still brilliant. Still saw things no one else could quite see, was still arrogant and an arse, but at times tolerable. But clean, it was as if everything was in high definition for him, and Lestrade quickly became the only one who could stand being in the only room with him. His tongue and mind were vicious weapons combined, even more so while clean.

Then the arrival of one, Doctor John Watson.

And the viciousness and unmanageable nature of Sherlock seemed... just a bit tamer.

Just a bit.

A knock on his door shakes his musings and Sgt Donovan opens it. "Sir, Mr Kingston is here."

Lestrade nods, and glances at that file with the September date on it.

He'll have to get back to that later.

"I don't understand," Kendrick Kingston says blankly, a half hour later. He looks up from the file that Lestrade had given him on Irene Adler. "You mean your telling me that my wife was-"

"Mr Kingston, I know this is difficult, but it is the truth. The woman you knew as Adrianna Carris Kingston was a false identity. Her real name was Irene Adler. Our source was correct. The fingerprints, the DNA, it all matches."

"So you're telling me the woman I married wasn't the woman I thought she was," he says, his eyes still red from last night.

"Unfortunately. She had a bit of a reputation it seems. And while her documents regarding her current identity were quite well done, nothing can be found of Adrianna Carris beyond six years. She probably thought that would be enough of a trail for an identity. I believe the term one would use is a con artist." According to the source Sherlock had sent his way, the only reason her fingerprints were on file was because of her first and only mistake she made in Paris. After that she was very careful.

Minus the time she punched Sherlock. Her only other slip.

"This is..." Kendrick Kingston shakes his head, looking like a headache was coming on. Lestrade knew the feeling. "This is a lot to take in."

"Again, I understand. I thought it would be best that you knew the truth Mr Kingston."

The grieving man nods, and glances down at a picture of Irene Adler, before she did her minor changes to her appearance.

"We met at a fundraiser," he says quietly. "She crashed it, actually. Every man in the room had his eyes on her, but her attention was only on me." He smiles bitterly. "Now I know why," Mr Kingston groans and rubs his face. "It explains a lot," he murmurs. "How she didn't like to travel to Europe with me, how she avoided some parts of the States, why she was never home whenever I had some international business clients over... why she was leary about coming here..." He trails off. "One of her victims, a person she conned, killed her. That's it, isn't it? They recognized her, and got revenge?"

"We're not ruling that out," Lestrade neither denies or confirms that. Right now they have nothing on who could have killed her. That's because his consulting detective has not yet come by to reveal what he knew. He may have to stop over at 221B Baker Street to get the story. "But now that we know who she is, there may be a possibility she does have some enemies here in London."

Kendrick Kingston nods, still looking weary and strained.

"I hate to ask this now, but it needs to be asked. Did you and your wife have a prenup?"

"Yes, yes we did."

"Any conditions in there regarding a divorce?"

"Uhh," Mr Kingston looks up at the ceiling, looking like he was racking his brain for an answer. "In order for her to get anything in the event of a divorce, we would have to be married for five years, and she would have to have proof of whatever she would accuse me of."

"Such as infidelity?"

Mr Kingston nods. "Although there was no way I was going to cheat on her. No other woman holds my interest like she does-" He pauses, then swallows. "No other woman held my interest like she did," he corrects himself. "Look, Detective Inspector, this has been rather stressful, and I know you probably have more questions for me, but can we put them off for a couple hours? I need to get some sleep. Haven't had any since-"

Lestrade nods. "Of course. I have your number, I will contact you."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: A clinic<strong>

**Time: 4 pm**

* * *

><p>Sherlock leaves the doctor's office, the irritating sling still cradling his arm and walks into the main sitting room where John is sitting.<p>

"I'm done," Sherlock announces passing him,

"What did the doctor say?"

"Another week until I can get rid of this thing," Sherlock mentally curses his body for failing him.

"You really should not have tried to-"

"Do you really have to start on that again?" Sherlock cuts him off as they leave the clinic, not wanting to hear John reprimand him again for being the cause of the delayed healing process.

He hated the clinic visits. But it was either go to the clinic, or go to that boring, dull and predictable doctor that treated him at the hospital. John refused to be his primary doctor on this, even though he had no problems in the past taking care of injuries that would annoyingly make their appearance during cases.

He didn't care for most doctors really, nor liked having his arm touched. The only person he felt comfortable treating him was John. But at least this one here at the clinic was tolerable at best, and was not a total idiot.

"She said the minor exercises I've been doing have been helping bringing it's strength back," Sherlock adds. His last visit, two weeks back, he was told his arm had healed enough to start doing the exercises, and for once Sherlock agreed to do something he was told to do. Anything, to get rid of this blasted sling and have his arm back to normal.

Then he can properly concentrate on things that truly matter.

Like figuring out how deep Moriarty's influence runs.

He doesn't believe the reports saying that Jim Moriarty died. He knows John doesn't either, and neither does his brother. Sherlock hated to think his brother's opinion meant anything, but in this matter, his brother was right.

Right now though, none of them have talked about it. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to, still furious with how John got used as a pawn, how Moriarty outwitted him... it was all so frustrating and he had to stay calm.

Emotions got in the way. Kept him from thinking clearly.

"At least it's only a week, Sherlock, and not another month."

"Only you would see a week as good news. Ah, there's a taxi, call it will you."

Sherlock watches John attempt to hail one, keeping an eye on him. Once John's able to hail the taxi successfully, having gotten quite a bit of practice with it, they get in.

"So you plan on telling me about this Irene Adler yet?"

Ahh, another topic that makes Sherlock want to grind his teeth, but he doesn't want to go to the dentist, so he wills himself not to.

"When we're back at the flat."

"You promise? Not going to avoid it?"

"With you constantly nagging, how can I?"

"Sherlock-"

"I told you I would tell you John," Sherlock says stonily. "Where's the trust?"

"You told me you sent the plans to your brother."

Sherlock stares at John. "I explained about that-"

John waves it off. "I know. I understand it, truly I do. But you can't blame me for being a little leery of trusting you to tell me."

Sherlock accepts that. He has to. It is only logical after all for John to be a bit shy about it. For the thousandth time, Sherlock quietly scolds himself for not telling John the truth about what he planned to do with the Bruce-Partington plans. He honestly thought he was protecting him by leaving him out of it.

In the end it only placed John in danger.

Sherlock clenches his jaw as the pool scene threatens to overwhelm him and he viciously shoves it away.

He was not going to replay it.

Damn Moriarty. Damn him.

And damn Irene Adler too.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker Street<strong>

**Time: 4:30**

* * *

><p>"What are you doing here?" John hears Sherlock snap as the tall man doesn't move from the doorway.<p>

"Checking up on you," John hears Mycroft's smooth reply.

Great. Another round of sibling rivarly. John opens the side door to the kitchen to enter the flat.

"I don't need you checking up on me, Mycroft."

"I am your brother Sherlock. You have avoided my stopping by for the past two weeks. I really wish you would accept that I am concerned for you."

_Not going to happen_, _Mycroft_, John thinks as he uses the side door to the kitchen to get into the flat.

"I've seen examples of your concern," Sherlock says coldly. "You are only here because of Mummy and some ill advised promise you made to her."

Sometimes, the things you wish you didn't have to overhear.

"Hello, John," Mycroft has apparently decided to turn his attention on him now.

John shrugs off his coat. "Mycroft."

"Well as you can see I am in one piece still, so you can go off now."

"Sherlock, really."

John takes out a pop from the fridge and goes into the sitting room, taking a seat in a chair. Mycroft as usual is in impeccably dressed, and looks like nothing can ruffle him, although John spots the weariness in the man's eyes and the fact he lost some more weight.

"How's the diet?" Sherlock drawls, instantly pushing, sprawling himself on the sofa.

"Fine," Mycroft says irritably. "And you can stop being aggravating because that Woman has come back into your life."

"In a manner of speaking. The Woman is dead."

"And she's still causing scandals in Belgravia and bringing you into it. Dead or alive, Irene Adler still refuses to completely disappear."

"Well she won't be popping up any time soon," Sherlock retorts sourly. John's curiosity about this Irene Adler and her connection to is almost at a boiling over point. And is it his imagination or are they calling her the Woman with emphasis on the W part?

"The Woman?"

"Yes, that's how we refer to Ms Adler. Sherlock doesn't get bested by many people, and when they do, he tends to give them a title."

John blinks and looks over at Sherlock, who is looking more sour than ever.

"Hang on, she bested you?"

"She did more than best him, John," Mycroft clarifies, with a little smile of amusement. "Irene Adler outwitted Sherlock and got away with it."


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them. **

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010**

**Word Count 2,330  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4 - A Past Is Revealed<strong>

**Location 221B Baker St**

**Time: 4:55**

**August 22, 2010**

* * *

><p>Sherlock wishes he had both arms available, so he could play some violin and drive Mycroft out of here. And wipe that amused smile off his face.<p>

He so loves to rub it in.

His litter brother, bested by another.

He hates that word.

"Wait- what?" John turns to look at Sherlock, and Sherlock wishes that Irene Adler had stayed in the states, bilking rich idiots like she did here. John starts to smile a little at that, and Sherlock is tempted to hit him as well, but John would be able to dodge it well enough.

"So someone has gotten the best of you," John comments.

"Not just someone, John," Mycroft adds, "a woman."

Sherlock reminds himself it is not good to clench his jaw. It causes clicks. It is also not good to grind teeth. It causes visits to the dentist.

"Which just makes it more infuriating for Sherlock of course. Women are the more sneakier, trickier of the human species. Whoever says they are the fairer, gentler sex, well they are quite wrong."

"I can attest to that," John murmurs. "Harry is not fair not gentle."

Sherlock grimaces at the mention of the sister. No like lost between the two of them. Harry Watson dislikes him as much he dislikes her.

"So, what happened?"

"I will tell it Mycroft," Sherlock jumps into the conversation, having ignored whatever the two of them had been saying. "You will only embellish and leave out important details. Go home. Or go back to work."

"Very well then. I got what I came for anyway. A few minutes with my younger brother," he smiles at Sherlock and Sherlock glares at him.

_Go. Away. _

"Goodbye John," he stands and shakes John's hand.

John of course has to do the social thing, always the social thing, and soon the flat is empty of Mycroft's physical presence. No doubt there is some surveillance around as always.

"All right, you've sulked enough."

"I am not sulking."

"No you're steaming. I swear if it was possible, steam would be coming out of your ears." John takes a seat in the chair closest to the sofa. "So she bested you?"

"Do stop saying it," Sherlock growls testily.

"Not every day that someone gets one over on you."

"You like this don't you?"

"A little." John smiles. "You're not the only man in the world that has been beaten by a woman, Sherlock. Join the club."

"I do not care to be in any such..._ club._"

"Pity. Well you are. So stop dragging and tell me. Out with it."

Out with it...

* * *

><p><em><strong>September 23rd, 2006<strong>_

_**Sherlock glances at the brunette next to him, looking over the bouquets of flowers. He had been working on an introduction ever since his meeting with Mr Brightman. **_

_**When she glances over at him, Sherlock merely smiles and turns his attention to the flowers in front him.**_

_**He had to do this carefully. They warned him, and he did not want to mess this up.**_

_**A challenge, a game that kept his mind occupied. And this was one he did not want to end before he had a chance to get bored. **_

_**"All right," she says suddenly, her American accent clear as day, "out with it."**_

_**"Are you talking to me?" Sherlock asks, looking over at her.**_

_**"Yes, you, since you're the only one standing next to me. You want to say something, say it."**_

_**"Go with the roses," Sherlock points to the bouquet of yellow roses. "Those. You keep going back to them, discounting the others."**_

_**She smiles at that. "How long have you been watching me?"**_

_**"Just a few minutes, since I came over here."**_

_**"Well since you came over here, sir, I think introductions are in order, don't you think?"**_

_**Sherlock smiles. "Sherlock Holmes." He holds out his hand.**_

_**She shakes his hand. "Irene Adler."**_

* * *

><p>Sherlock frowns. She did not give him an alias, nor use an alias with anyone else. Yet when she obviously met Kendrick Kingston, she had a new identity all set up. What changed to make her unable to use her real name?<p>

A wanting to start over, completely new?

Did she in fact truly love the man she was falsely married to and change her ways?

Sherlock tosses that to the side. Not enough data to come to _that_ conclusion, and his invaluable lesson that he learned from Irene Adler showed him that she was not one to change her ways

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock barely hears John in the midst of his thoughts, then irritated, he banishes the memory, and with some annoyance he snaps, "What?"

"I'm not letting up until you tell me how she be-" John pauses. "How she beat you?"

"Still just as bad," he mutters.

"I'm sure it is," John says and Sherlock rolls his eyes at the sympathetic tone his flat mate's words took.

"Quit with the sympathy, I don't need it."

"So?"

Sherlock sighs. "All right, all right. Have you ever heard of Jermiah Brightman?"

John tilts his head. "The last name somewhat rings a bell."

"How about Jackson Brightman?"

"Uh, yeah heard of him. Married to uh.. Fiona Hardwick. She's an heiress and a model. Shows up a lot in the gossip shows on the telly," John adds quickly.

"Yes, well Jackson Brightman is well to do as well. His father owned a lot of real estate, not just in England, but in Scotland, France, Spain. Brightman Estates. Lots of money, old money too. The Brightmans have been a fixture in Belgravia for a long time."

"Okay."

"Are there any more of those pops in the fridge? I am quite thirsty."

"No you're not. You're stalling."

Sherlock scowls. "I am not stalling."

"What about your rule? Digestion slows you down on a case."

"Well as you stated several times before, one needs to at least drink."

"So now you're going to listen to me?" John shakes his head but gets up. Sherlock hears some sounds in the kitchen and John comes back out with an open pop, handing it over to Sherlock. Sherlock takes a drink, using the seconds to straighten his thoughts out, make them more in order and easier to relay.

"Go on."

"Well anyway, one day I get an invitation. In that invitation is an offer to secure my consulting services for a delicate situation."

"Delicate huh?"

"I can be delicate," Sherlock glares.

"All right."

"So, my curiosity is piqued. I go. I end up meeting with Mr Jeremiah Brighton. He explains to me that his son is currently engaged and a wedding will be taking in a few days. A match that had been made for years between the Hardwicks and the Brightons. Jackson and Fiona. But there's a hitch."

"Oh?"

Sherlock nods. "Jackson had gotten involved with an American woman. Rather passionate, rather indecent in Mr Brightman's mind. He did some research on the woman and found some things he didn't care for. The relationship itself was over, but there was still trouble. Ever since the announcement of the engagement was made, this woman showed up making trouble. She told Jackson that she was pregnant, she had recorded several of their passionate encounters on a DVD, and that she was going to spill all the day before the wedding unless he paid her."

Sherlock pauses to take another drink, and takes a minute to gather his thoughts so he can explain the rest quickly.

"How much?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, she wanted three hundred thousand quid."

John chokes on his drink, and starts coughing, but he's able to get himself sorted moments later. "Quite a bit of change," he croaks.

"Yes. Irene Adler liked to go big."

"So this is what Mycroft meant by her still causing scandals in Belgravia. She was causing an internal one with her scheme, and would have caused a major one had she gone through with it."

"How do you know she didn't go through with it?" Sherlock asks, pleased that John had come to the conclusion but wanting to hear it as well.

"Well, Jackson and Fiona did marry. I doubt very much the wedding would have gone off. Even with all the decades of planning, and everything set into place. Fiona Hardwick comes across as someone who does not forgive easily, if you pay attention to the telly and the gossip papers."

Sherlock smiles for the first time today at John's deductions.

"Ah, I got it right them."

"Yes. And I'll get into what happened on that later. But for riight now, Mr Brightman was determined not to pay the woman anything, but he was not going to let her ruin a match that had been planned for a couple decades and was just a few days away. So that's where he wanted me to come in."

"And how was that?"

"He wanted the dvd, he wanted proof of whether or not she was pregnant. He wanted anything that could link his son to her brought to him so it could be destroyed. That way she would have nothing to hold over him and the wedding could go as planned without any threats on the outside. He didn't want to bring in the police, because he didn't trust someone to leak it to the press. Which he wanted avoided at all costs of course."

"Sensible."

"Right. He wanted me to get it. He wanted me to work my way into her life, get what I could, and then get it all to him."

John nods, and Sherlock knows questions are burning in the Doctor's head. Which one will he ask first?

Hmm. Most likely the most obvious one.

"You didn't get it did you?"

The obvious one.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because of what Mycroft said. She best-"

"I don't need a reminder of what he said," Sherlock interrupts quickly. Does he have to use that infernal word?

"All right. So you didn't get it?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean? What happened?" John frowns. "And if you didn't get it, why didn't she go through with it?"

"I said I would explain that later. As for why I didn't get the DVD, I made a mistake."

"I'm sorry? What was that?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, I think I did." John grins. "You made a mistake. Fancy that, you admitting it. It's like you admitting that time you need advice during that case with the Tonga."

"Oh shut up."

John chuckles. "What kind of mistake?"

"I underestimated her."

* * *

><p><em><strong>September 25, 1 pm, 2007<strong>_

_**Sherlock waits for her to enter the lobby. He's calm. Completely calm. **_

_**Frustration, anger, it won't get him anywhere. He needs to focus. **_

_**He was lucky Lestrade was there, and was willing to listen. **_

_**Somehow she knew he would be in her flat.**_

_**And he barely had time to search before the police came. **_

_**He was promptly arrested and charged with breaking and entering. It was late at night, and Sherlock was kept in custody until someone was finally able to get ahold of Lestrade. He was the only person Sherlock could think of that could sort out this situation, because he practiced his right to remain silent with the officers. Lestrade couldn't do anything from home, so Sherlock spent the night in custody and after some quick work on Lestrade's part during the morning, Sherlock was freed an hour ago. **_

_**He didn't know what strings the DI pulled, and in honesty he didn't care. He was just glad he was out. **_

_**The entrance opens and he sees her. He quickly banks all emotion, stays collected and calm. As she passes him, Sherlock steps out and grabs her arm ,pulling her down further into the lobby. She snarls at him, attempts to hit him until he gets her to an out of the way spot.**_

_**"Well, I expected you to be in there for a day at least," Irene smirks. "I see you have connections."**_

_**"Sorry to disappoint you," Sherlock drawls.**_

_**"Not disappointed. Just intrigued now."**_

_**"How long have you known?"**_

_**"Known what?"**_

_**"You know what I'm talking about."**_

_**Irene's smirk widens. "I do. But how long have I known? Well, I think I'll leave that up to you to deduce, Mr Holmes."**_

"_**We are not through."**_

"_**Oh I know that. You have two more days to complete your job. I can't wait to see how you finish this game." She pats his cheek, withdraws her arm and walks away, and all Sherlock can do is watch.**_

* * *

><p>"You underestimated her?"<p>

Sherlock nods, resigned to all of it now.

"How do you mean?"

"Her intelligence, her cleverness, her ability to be sneaky. From what Mr Brightman and Jackson Brightman had told me, I knew I was going up against someone intelligent, clever and sneaky. I just didn't know how clever, sneaky and intelligent."

* * *

><p><em><strong>September 25th, 6 pm, 2007.<strong>_

_**"You don't have them yet?"**_

_**"She set me up."**_

_**"Mr Holmes-"**_

_**"I know, Mr Brightman. I have another plan in process. I'll get the DVD."**_

_**"Quickly, Mr Holmes. The wedding is in three days. She wants the payment the morning of the wedding."**_

_**Sherlock calculates how many hours he has left, and it's going to be tricky, challenging.**_

_**At least he hasn't gotten bored yet.**_

_**"The wedding will happen, Mr Brightman."**_

_**"It better. Get me that DVD."**_

_**Sherlock already had gotten the truth about the pregnancy. Completely false. And he had informed Mr Brightman of that earlier this morning. Unfortunately, nothing would make this man happy until that DVD is in his hands.**_


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them. **

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5- A Past Is Revealed Part 2<strong>

**Location: Somewhere Unknown**

**Time: Almost 6**

* * *

><p>"We need to talk."<p>

"I don't see the need."

"The gun."

"Yes?"

"Why haven't you gotten rid of it?"

"I don't see the need to."

"I hate that thing. I've asked you time after time to get rid of it."

A sigh. "Yes, I know, you do like to harp on about it."

"It's not safe."

"It's plenty safe. The gun is locked up. Only way to get to it is a key."

"I still don't want it here. I don't care for guns."

"Oh yes, I know. But either way, it is staying. It has it's uses."

"What uses can a gun have?"

"It helps with problems."

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me."

"Unfortunately."

* * *

><p><strong>Location 221B Baker St<strong>

**Time: Almost 6 pm.**

**August 22, 2010**

* * *

><p>John, despite himself, finds this story about Irene Adler and Sherlock fascinating. He doesn't have the whole story yet, but he'll eventually get it out of the man.<p>

"So what happened?"

Sherlock sighs. "I really don't-"

"Yes, you do want to talk about it. You love talking about your cases."

"Well this is not one of them."

"Because she beat you."

Sherlock scowls at him. John smirks.

"It's good for the ego you know, to be reminded of past failures."

"Shut up."

"Sherlock."

"I know. You are only teasing. It does not help that this is not a teasing manner."

"Right. So, go on."

"I need to do my arm exercises."

John rolls his eyes, and comes over to help Sherlock take off his sling. "You can do them while you finish telling me the story."

Sherlock stretches his arm out, and John watches him start his exercises. "So. I got the information about where she lived. I watched her for a day. Broke into her flat when she was gone for a couple hours, to see if I could get any data."

"Did you?"

"Not a lot, but enough to help me start. I decided to introduce myself to her in a manner that I hoped would not arouse suspicion."

"And?"

"I'm not sure. Something Irene said to me later... She may have known from the beginning that Mr Brightman would put someone on to her and was waiting for it. Maybe I didn't put something back right when I broke into her flat that night. Anyway, we had our introduction. I offered to escort her back to her flat, and on the way there we ended up stopping at a cafe."

"Wait. You ate on a case?"

"No." Sherlock gives him a look and John motions with his hand to keep going.

"So, you stopped at a cafe."

"We stayed for a couple hours. Surprisingly we honestly had some things in common. Science primarily. You couldn't fake an interest in that, considering the topic we were on."

"Do I want to know?"

"No."

"All right."

"I escorted her back to her flat, and we ended up exchanging numbers. I offered to take her sight seeing, since she was playing the whole American tourist in London thing. She accepted. I went back to my flat and did some research on some items I found in her flat the first time I broke in-"

"First time?"

"John."

"Sorry."

"I was able to confirm one thing from my research and the search in her flat. She was not pregnant. But I needed to go back to the flat to find the dvd. But the timing had to be right."

"And unfortunately this was a case that was time sensitive."

"Exactly. It might not have been if Jackson had gone to his father earlier. Mr Brightman gave me the case on the twenty first of September. The wedding was on the twenty eighth. I had my first face to face meeting with Irene on the twenty third, our outing was then on the twenty fourth. So we spent the next day sight seeing. Until.. early evening. She stated then she was going to meet up with some friends at a diner, and that we can possibly continue sight seeing tomorrow."

"You went to go break into her flat again, didn't you?"

"Yes."

John recognizes the tone of voice. "Oh... something happened."

"How can you tell?"

"Your tone."

"You are certainly getting better aren't you? Yes, something happened. I wasn't in there for more than five minutes when the police came in. An anonymoust tip was called in... ten minutes before I even entered the flat. I was promptly arrested."

John raises his eyebrows. "She had to have known the next day then.. to set you up like that. She had to have known you would have gone to her flat.. she must have known you broke in earlier."

"Yes, yes, I guessed all of that as I had time to think while in holding. I was able to get a hold of Lestrade the next morning when he was coming in and it quickly got settled. I don't know what he did, but it's one of the few times I was grateful for his help."

"Does he know?"

"No."

"Of course."

"So, on the twenty fifth, I was released."

"You confronted her, didn't you?"

"Good, John. I did. I surprised her with how quickly I got out. I asked her how long she knew. She wouldn't answer. I insisted that this was not over, she agreed and said she could not wait to see what I would do next, more or less."

In truth, John should be sympathetic. The look of frustration, annoyance, and out right disgust on Sherlock would make most people probably be sympathetic. If they didn't know Sherlock. Privately, John thought this was a good lesson for Sherlock.. but apparently it didn't stick.

"Unfortunately Mr Brightman was not happy. The wedding was in three days now."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

"What did you do next?"

"Plotted."

"Plotted?"

"Correct. I stayed holed up in my flat, working on theories and ideas. Came up with nothing until the next day."

"Which was?"

"I paid someone to set off the smoke bombs in the hotel she was staying in. I picked a good day too, as the hotel's security and fire alarm systems was being worked on and not in a state to work properly. "

John stares at Sherlock. "It's times like this when I truly do think you are insane."

"I slipped inside the building the moment I saw her rush out with the others," Sherlock continued, and it was obvious to John he was ignoring the comment and just trying to get the whole story out. "I made sure that the two kids I paid would make it a good show. Ingenious kids.. filled up the hallways with smoke in a matter of minutes with their smoke bombs. It got people's attention and they got rushed out."

"Hope you paid them well."

"I did."

"So you used the diversion to get back into her flat."

"I did."

"And?"

"Found a picture of her and Jackson Brightman.. an interesting one. A key to a safety deposit box that the hotel she was staying in provides. No dvd. I palmed the key, and during the still going chaos, went to the vault that was in the hotel. A worker was very careless in their hurry to get out of the building and left the vault entrance open. I didn't need to worry about security measures, because they were of course down. I got to the safety deposit box in time, opened it and found a dvd in a case. I took it, locked the box, and quickly made my leave."

Sherlock goes quiet, and John processes the gall and nerve Sherlock displayed with that scheme.

"What happened next?"

"I took the DVD home. Opened the case. A DVD was in there, but it was not the one I wanted. No, it was a movie. A note was also in there."

"And it said-"

"Not what you are looking for, Sherlock Holmes. Whatever effort you took to get this, it must have been a fantastic one. Thanks for playing."

John winces. "Ouch."

"Yes, I quite agree."

"Did you ever get the it?"

Sherlock clears his throat. "No. Never succeeded. I did try one more time. Decided the upfront confrontation would work. Maybe surprise her into just giving it to me. Not my best moment, really, but I was desperate and completely out of time and ideas by then."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"It's not. Irene Adler's games had me completely thrown, not something I like to admit and you are the only one I am admitting this to."

"I'm honored."

"Oh shut up."

"The assault on the the twenty seventh, the one she was arrested for.. that was the ending result from your last ditch effort?"

Sherlock nods.

"What did you call her to get you to hit her."

Sherlock stares at John. "Nothing polite."

"Ah.."

She knew what he was there for. Must have known from the beginning somehow.

Did his name give it away? He was just setting up his website then, it hadn't gained as much attention then as it has now.

"Something else must have happened though."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, the wedding still happened. Brightman and Hardwick married. So if you didn't get the DVD, did Jackson pay her? Or did she have a change of heart, which by the way, doesn't sound likely."

Sherlock smiles again at John's observations.

"No, he didn't pay. However, I got a call from a little past eleven am on the day of the wedding. It was Her."

* * *

><p><em><strong>September 28th<strong>_

_**Time: 9:12 am**_

_**"Sherlock Holmes."**_

_**"Hello Sherlock."**_

_**Sherlock freezes at the familiar throaty female voice. "Irene."**_

_**"Yes."**_

_**"Where are you?"**_

_**"Right now? Over the Atlantic Ocean. These airplanes have such nice phones. I am no longer welcome in England. So much so, my ticket was bought for me and I was followed the entire way to the airport."**_

_**"I see."**_

_**"A pity our game had to end this way."**_

_**"Where is it?"**_

_**"Why? The game is over, Sherlock. Jackson is marrying his bride, and there will be no delighful scandal. No big pay day for me either, but I'll take what I can get."**_

_**"And that is?"**_

_**"Satisfaction. In beating you. It was so nice to meet someone like you. I don't get a challenge very often. Most men would have given up the first time they didn't find anything. But then most men don't have the contacts you obviously do."**_

_**"Did you call to gloat?"**_

_**"No, Sherlock. I never gloat."**_

* * *

><p>"What do you think happened?"<p>

"John, use your head. She was followed to the airport. She was told she was no longer welcome in England. Her ticket was bought for her. And she never got a pound from the Brightmans."

Sherlock watches and waits for the wheels to connect the dots.

"Mycroft."

"Most likely. I confronted him about it later, but he did his usual never confirm or deny." Sherlock just added that onto his long list of reasons why he resents Mycroft and continues his feud with him. However childish it may be.

"So what are you going to tell Lestrade? Who by the way, texted me earlier to say he was stopping by... and that will be in ten minutes."

"The short version," Sherlock says bluntly as he reaches for the sling. The exercises made his arm feel good, blood pumping through it. Even with the doctor's estimation that it should be a week, he thinks he could be rid of this thing at least two days earlier. As long as he doesn't get hit with anything... or trip over something which is what he did last time.

"Which is?"

"I have ten minutes to shorten it, I'll figure it out."


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them. **

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010**

* * *

><p><strong>Previously: Lestrade reveals the truth about Kendrick Kingston's wife to the widower. Sherlock tells John about his past with the now deceased Irene Adler.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Lestrade Is Told The Short Version<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker St**

**Time: 6:33 pm**

* * *

><p>Lestrade takes a seat as he watches Sherlock type away on his laptop with one hand. Doing it quite effortlessly too.<p>

"John, I need you to send a text."

"I'll be out in a moment. You can wait."

Sherlock mutters something and Lestrade smirks.

"Quite good at typing one handed."

"Had lots of practice."

Doctor Watson comes out then, handing Lestrade a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Doctor Watson."

"Anytime. All right, Sherlock where's your mobile?"

Sherlock pauses in his typing and points to his mobile. Just a foot away from him.

"At least it's not in the coat you are wearing this time," Lestrade hears Doctor Watson mutter as he picks up the phone.

Lestrade realizes he keeps on thinking of the man as Doctor Watson, even though by now he knows him well enough to call him by his first name... He supposes it's the way the man carries himself.

"The number?"

Sherlock pauses again, and points to his screen. The doctor leans closer to get a look, glancing from the screen to the mobile.

"Have you sent it?"

"Hang on. There, sent."

"Perhaps I can have your attention for a bit, Sherlock?"

"I'm almost done."

"How did Kingston take the news?" Lestrade hears John Watson ask him and he looks over at the man who moves a pillow out of a chair before sitting down.

"Like most men who find out their wife is not who they think she is."

"So he was shaken up?"

"And resigned to it once it completely sunk in. Apparently there were clues to it all over the place, he just never put them together until we revealed to him the evidence."

"And the prenup?" Sherlock asks, apparently not caring about the Kendrick Kingston's current state. So it's back to business as usual.

"They had to be married for five years for her to get anything in the event of a divorce, and she would had to have proof of whatever she would accuse him of."

"That's a long time to run a con," John Watson murmurs.

"When the man you're conning happens to be a self made billionaire, and you could probably get half of what he's worth, then the long con would be worth it in the end. She would have taken him for whatever she could have, and then would have never had to do another con again. Retirement. Unfortunately for her, she decided to come back to London."

"So she definitely had enemies then."

Sherlock's attention goes from his laptop to Lestrade. "Oh yes," the consulting detective drawls softly. "And one of them might be one you really don't want to hear about."

"Please tell me it's no one political."

"Well he's not a politician.. but no doubt he's got some politicians in his pocket."

"For God's sake spit it out Sherlock."

"John?"

"Yes?"

"In my bedroom there's a small black case in the bottom drawer of the nightstand on the right side of my bed."

"You want me to get it?"

"Why else would I mention it?"

"You know you can get it yourself. Your legs are not broken."

"John."

"One of these days," the doctor mutters, and gets up from his chair. "I'm going to request hazard pay if I have to continue navigating your bedroom," he calls out as he goes through the kitchen and into the hall.

Lestrade stares at his cup of tea, doing his best to not laugh out loud at what must be a continuing theme in Sherlock and John Watson's arguments.

"Think it's amusing do you?"

"It can be.. the two of you. Like an old married couple," Lestrade teases, smirking at Sherlock's eye roll.

"You have two nightstands on the right side of your bed!" John Watson calls out. "Or what you could call a bed."

"The black one!' Sherlock clarifies.

"How are you two doing?"

Pale blue eyes connect sharply with Lestrade. He tries not look away. It's hard not to. "What do you mean?"

"With..everything. I know.. I know you don't like talking about it Sherlock, especially with what Moriarty tried to do.. but the man is dead now."

He watches the young man clench his jaw, and the look in his eyes tells Lestrade that he doesn't believe Moriarty is dead.

Truthfully, Lestrade doesn't think so either.

Sherlock doesn't answer, and John Watson comes back into the main room, with a small black case, setting it down next to Sherlock and he goes back to his chair.

Sherlock opens the case with his free arm, and Lestrade sees what looks to be a photograph.

"One of your possible suspects," Sherlock says roughly, handing him the photograph.

Lestrade raises an eyebrow at the... rather interesting picture. He recognizes the woman. This one is Irene Adler. And the man with her that's... well...

Oh hell.

"No, Sherlock."

"Oh yes."

"You are telling me that Jackson Brightman is a suspect."

"Indeed."

Lestrade feels a headache coming on. "Jackson's father in law is a QC! His mother in law is a-"

"Highly respected socialite who is on the board of several charities. And his wife is a publicly adored former model, now a fundraiser. I know."

"How? How? I mean the picture certainly is um... well.."

"Can I see?" John Watson asks curiously. Sherlock nods and Lestrade hands the photograph to the doctor who stares at it.

"Well." He clears his throat. "Quite the picture. How were they able to.. . you know what, never mind, I don't want to know."

"You remember Jeremiah Brightman, Lestrade?"

"Yes, of course. Big public figure. He and his wife were well known and quite well liked before they died." Lestrade sees the question in John Watson's expression. "Car accident. Drunk driver hit them. Last year."

"Jackson Brightman took over the family interests when his parents died," Sherlock continues. "In September of 2006, Jackson Brightman and Fiona Hardwick were just days from getting married when his father contacted me. He needed me to do something."

"Do what?"

"Jackson had the misfortune of getting involved with Ms Irene Adler for a few months a year before Jackson and Fiona started publicly seeing each other. It was quite the affair from what Mr Brightman said, and one that could be rather damaging if it was made public."

"All right then."

"Irene Adler showed back up in London a few days before the wedding, had a meeting with Jackson. She had some items that she was quite willing to put into the public eye, that would ultimately ruin Jackson's image, and prevent the wedding from taking place. That photograph turned out to be one of the items. Unless he paid her, she would take their affair public."

"So Mr Brightman hired you to get the items so she wouldn't have anything to hold over his son and the wedding could take place."

"Oh good, you follow. Yes, he did."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Come on Sherlock, tell me." At this point Lestrade notices that Sherlock doesn't really want to say anymore, and he catches a smirk from John Watson.

Something happened with this Irene Adler.

"Sherlock."

"All right," he snaps irritably. "To make a long story short, I took the case. I attempted to retrieve said items. She somehow knew. I got set up, twice in fact, one resulting in me being arrested."

"Hang on.. wait, September.. 2006." Dates finally splash into place with Lestrade and he nearly wants to smack himself. "That was her? That was the case you were working on? You know I had to call in a couple favours to get everything sorted and get you released."

"I figured as much. Yes that was her."

"What about her assaulting you on the twenty seventh?"

"A last ditch effort. Also, as I mentioned in your office, I admit to calling her an improper name."

"So what happened in the end then? Since it seems you didn't get the items and succeed in your case." Which actually makes Lestrade feel good. Sherlock can fail at something, nice to know. It also seems he underestimated her, and this Irene Adler bested him.

That's not something that can be said about many people when it comes to Sherlock Holmes.

"No, I didn't. And I don't know what happened, maybe she had a change in heart. I don know that the Brightmans never paid a pound to her, and that on the day of the wedding Irene called me from an aeroplane on her way to the States. Mainly to gloat."

"I feel like I should admire this woman."

"Admire her?" Sherlock snaps. "Why?"

"She bested Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh for God's sake! Enough with that blasted word!"

"He's rather moody about the whole thing," John Watson speaks up. "Perhaps a few more years from now, he'll find a way to admire how she outwitted him."

"She had talent, I'll admit to that, but it does not matter," Sherlock mutters, obviously sulking now.

"Does Jackson Brightman know about your involvement of his past affair?"

"Yes."

"Well then, when I go question him, you two might as well come with me. It'll save everyone the trouble and cab fare." He gets stares of surprise from both men. "Oh don't look at me like that. I know you Sherlock, well I know enough to know that you're going to question him anyways. And you'll have John Watson with you. So it just saves us all some time."

Sherlock's mobile buzzes then, and he grabs it. He smirks at the text, and whatever it is, Lestrade figures he must have gotten something.

"So, who else could be on our enemies list? Do you know?"

"Of course I know."

Lestrade rolls his eyes. "Of course."

"From my sources, before the Jackson Brightman affair, she had conned at least ten different men, from three different countries. Two of those men happen to be brothers, and are living in Belgravia. Both have reason to meet with Kendrick Kingston, so if they had the chance to meet his _lovely_ wife before she holed up in her hotel room, they may have recognized her."

"Who are they?"

"Sarino and Lavard Søndergaard, twins. Dutchman. They created a new computer program that they wanted Kendrick Kingston to incorporate into his company. Irene Adler apparently took them for ride as well."

"Fantastic. And they are here?"

"Yes. In fact their residence-" Sherlock turns his laptop around to show the map that he brought up, "is in fact just ten minutes away from The Berkeley Hotel."

"Could be coincidence," John Watson speaks up.

"Well I don't like coincidences," Lestrade growls. "So I have three people to question."

Sherlock's mobile rings then and he snatches it up. "Sherlock Holmes."... "Excellent. When?"... "That is fine with me. Thank you." He ends the call and sets his mobile down.

"Well, Lestrade, if you want, you can come with John and I in about ten minutes when the car arrives."

"A car is coming for us?"

"Yes, John."

"Sherlock, who was that?"

"The personal assistant to Sarino and Lavard Søndergaard. They agreed to meet with me about Irene Adler. Tonight."

TBC


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death In Prior Chapters.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7- Meeting Two Possible Suspects<strong>

**Location: Chesham Place Flat in Belgravia, London**

**Time: 7:20 pm**

* * *

><p>"I feel... very out of place here." John states. Sherlock almost smiles. Lestrade and John both look like they want to be anywhere else but here. Most likely Lestrade would feel more comfortable questioning the Søndergaard brothers at the Yard.<p>

"Quite the nice place," Lestrade murmurs as they stand in the middle of the the large recpetion room that was expensively decorated. It was obvious the Søndergaard wanted to show off their wealth.

Most newly wealthy seem to do that.

Meanwhile, the maid that had answered the door and let them inside, went off to her bosses, instructing them to just stay where they were.

After a few more minutes of waiting, two tall men with blonde hair and green eyes come into the room. Wait scratch that. One has green eyes, the other has a left blue eye and a right green eye. That one is Sarino.

"Mr Holmes?" Sarino steps forward, his Dutch accent very present. He looks questioningly at John and Lestrade. "We weren't told you were bringing guests with you."

"Ah, apologies, Mr Søndergaard. I thought I mentioned I would be bringing my colleague Doctor John Watson with me. Also with me, is Detective Inspector Lestrade. He came along because we figured it might save us some time. You two especially."

"Ah.. yes well, of course. Anyways, I'm-"

"Sarino, I know. And this is Lavard. Nice to meet you both."

"Bloody eyes, always give who we are away."

"Well, it would be rather boring to be identical in all manners, wouldn't it?"

Sarino and Lavaar chuckle at that.

"Well then, perhaps we should go into the sitting room to talk, this way," the brothers lead the three of them into another exspensively decorated room. At least they have decent taste, Sherlock decides. Nothing garish or loud.

"Anything to drink or eat?"

"None for me thank you." Sherlock answers although without much surprise John and Lestrade take the offer.

John accepts the cup of tea from the young lady when she comes in with drinks for him and Lestrade.

"So, Mr Holmes, you said that you wanted to talk to us about," The brother who Sherlock greeted as Sarino, clears his throat.

"Irene Adler."

Both of their jaws clench.

"What about her?"

John notices Sherlock looking at Lestrade then.

"She's dead," Lestrade says bluntly. "Found in her hotel room last night."

"Unfortunate," The other brother, Lavaard, murmurs. Sarino doesn't comment.

"She was in London with-"

"Kendrick Kingston, yes I know," Sarino says coolly. Even to John it appears the subject of Irene Adler is a tetchy one at best.

"I thought it was her.. a few minor differences in appearance, but I wasn't quite sure at the time," Sarino adds.

"So you met her when she and her husband arrived?"

"Yes. Although she kept herself scarce most of the time.. We were both at the Kingston's party for that deal that just gone through. He invited us, wanted to discuss the program that we created. She wasn't there of course, but we had run into Kingston and his wife when they arrived," Lavaard replies.

"And what is your connection to Irene Adler?" Sherlock asks in cool tone.

John notices the brothers exchange a look, both of them saying quite a lot to each other before looking back at them.

"She worked as Lavaard's P.A," Sarino finally says. "Also, she and I had an affair."

"You were married to someone else," Sherlock states. "It ended then."

"She ruined my marriage. She wanted money for a DVD she created of our.. get togethers, otherwise she'd reveal it to my wife. I called her bluff. Paid for it. Plus she wormed her way into a position in our company, and was working on my brother while she was working me," Sarino says, anger in his words although he's looking quite cool.

"How did she work you Lavaard?" Lestrade asks the other brother, who was looking mightily uncomfortable.

"My brother is a soft touch," Sarino speaks up before his brother does. It's clear to John which brother is the one more in charge. "I keep on telling him everyone has a sob story and he shouldn't always believe them. Even with the experience of Ms Adler in his life, he still likes to help."

"So she sold a few stories then?" John asks.

Lavaard nods. "She said she was having money troubles, despite being my P.A. She was struggling to pay her sister's tuition, her mother's medical bills, keeping up her rent..." The more soft spoken twin says, shame evident in his words. "So I loaned her money whenever she seemed like she needed it. Not a lot each time, but it added up over the four months she worked for us."

"Ohh, all together is comes out to two hundred and forty nine thousand krone," Lavaard murmrus rubbing his neck.

John and Lestrade choke a little on their drinks then, earning an understanding smile from Lavaard.

"So a little over forty five thousand in US currency then," Sherlock states as the other two men work to recover themselves.

Lavaard nods.

"In the end, with my marriage in the toilet, I paid Irene to just go away," Sarino admits.

"How much was that?" Lestrade asks keenly.

"Roughly about a hundred grand in US currency."

So all together she took the brothers for almost a hundred and fifty grand.. that was quite the haul, John realizes. And she also destroyed a marriage.

"She did a lot of damage," John states.

Sarino's jaw clenches. "She did."

"Gentlemen, due to these revelations I do have to ask you where you were between five thirty and six."

"I was checking on the security program of the hotel," Sarino answers. "Our company created a security program for The Berkeley for their doors. Apparently there was some sort of glitch going on and I wanted to see how it was being worked out. I was there for... ten minutes, then I went back to the party."

"And you, sir?"

"Chatting with Fiona Hardwick-Brightman."

John starts at the name and he notices Lestrade and Sherlock still at the name. "Fiona Brightman was there?" Sherlock asks curiously.

Both brothers nod. "Her and her husband, Jackson Brightman. Jackson, Lavaard and I went to the same boarding school, and we kept in touch afterwards."

John knew that look in Sherlock's eyes.

The gleam.

The trail just warmed up.

And these two men in front of them were the ones responsible.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Scotland Yard<strong>

**Time: Almost 9pm**

* * *

><p>"You're telling me your two main suspects are Jackson Brightman and Sarino Søndergaard?" Lestrade didn't need to look at his DCI to know that the man didn't like what he was hearing.<p>

"And possibly Fiona Hardwick-Brightman," Lestrade adds, remembering John and Sherlock's conversation about that possibility on the ride back.

"This is...this is not..."

"It's unfortunate, I know, but that's the way it looks."

"This is more than unfortunate, Lestrade...this is..."

"I know."

"What does Holmes think?"

Lestrade contemplates his superior for a minute, thinking on what exactly to say. He thinks there is some sort of history between his DCI and Sherlock. Has to be. His DCI used to piss and moan about Sherlock's name being mentioned in Lestrade's reports in the early days. Then.. last year it happened less and less. His reports dealing with Sherlock's consulting did not come with visits regarding Sherlock's methods as they did in the beginning. The memos to stop consulting with Sherlock have stopped as well.

He's just glad he's not a DCI. Too much politics. Besides any possibility of getting promoted went out the window so to speak the moment he let Sherlock in on that first case. But he can live with that, he likes where he is.

"Not sure yet. He didn't say much on the way back after the talk."

"You are going to be meeting with Brightman tomorrow?"

Lestrade nods. "The three of us. Sherlock, Doctor Watson, and I. Also we need to get permission to go over The Berkeley's security logs. Sherlock was talking about that too. He and Watson were going back and forth on a lot of things, I only caught some things here and there."

"If it is any one of them Lestrade, we need more than just Sherlock's word. We need hard evidence, proof. Hell, a confession on tape... something concrete, otherwise their lawyers will have us all for lunch and dinner."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker St<strong>

**Time: Almost midnight**

* * *

><p>Sherlock stares at his laptop, his free hand tapping the table. He had some messages waiting to be read, plus some texts and voicemails on his mobile.<p>

He recognized some of the senders.

Two of them were from Mummy. She no doubt was nearing the end of her tour in the States and would be returning to England soon.

So the other ones from Mycroft were also about that as well.

If anyone asked Sherlock to explain his relationship with his mother, it would be one of the very few things he would have difficulty explaining.

"And people wonder why I choose to have few relationships... the family ones take up most of my energy," Sherlock murmurs to himself, remembering a chat that he had with John a few months back.

Sherlock pushes aside those thoughts and looks over his email. He'll go through his mobile messages later.

One is from a private investigator in New York, asking for his help when he gets the chance. He knows the man, met him during his travels in the States. He'll read it over when this Adler case is done.

However, this next one he needs to read. Very much important..

_**I did what you asked, Sherlock. I searched the databases for the type of crimes you listed out. I was able to pull up a pattern, strangely enough. I put it together on a data chip and it is on it's way to you. Apologies it took so long.**_

_**E.R.**_

Ahh... one contact coming through. So far in his quest to find out more on Moriarty, his own resources hit a wall, so he had to turn to others.

Most of them hit a wall too.

Sherlock knows his brother is searching as well, most likely has the information he wants, but he won't go to him.

He exits out of his email and goes to his favorite search engine, bringing up the latest news.

At the top is an article about the Brightmans. Which brings Sherlock back onto the case at hand. His thoughts once more whirl around, making it hard to concentrate on particular thing.

John already went to bed, tired. So he had no one to voice out his thoughts to, no one to help clear his mind from the stray ones that needed to be voiced. They did had quite the discussion on the way back, which helped, but now in the silence, he had more.

And he couldn't play his violin to help his thoughts.

Oh how he wanted to play his violin.

He hadn't played it in so long... last time he did was to drive Mycroft out of his flat. And then he got a call from Lestrade...

Lestrade most likely has just finished telling his DCI what is going on.. and getting blasted for it.

Never good to have people who are wealthy and influential be your top suspects.

And there it is. Suspects.

Everything just seemed too.. obvious. Too easy. Too simple.

And to coincidental.

Three men. Conned by Irene Adler. Who ended up at the party thrown by her husband. Three men, all of them with an grudge to bear against the woman who showed up in London once more.

Three men who would have recognized her even with her small cosmetic changes. Sarino admitted it, but also admitted he wasn't sure.

Sarino Søndergaard. Lavaard Søndergaard. Jackson Brightman.

He's tempted to discount Lavaard. He's the quieter of the two. There was no anger there about Adler. Just shame and resignation. He didn't seem to have the attitude that would come with being willing to pull the trigger.

But Sherlock kept him. He wasn't going to discount anyone until he had more data.

His discounted Jim Moriarty. Or well, Jim from IT.

Look where that got him.

John strapped with a bomb.

John being used as pawn.

John...

Sherlock ruthlessly shoves aside the image. He can't dwell on that now. Plainly put, Morairty taught Sherlock a lesson. No one was above being a suspect.

So, one of the brothers, or Jackson Brightman... one of them killed Irene Adler.

Or were they in on it together?

Somehow one of them got into the flat without Irene noticing. Those doors always make some sort of sound when the key card is used.

And it's logged too.

Sherlock needed the logs. If someone came into suite it would have been logged.

He also needed the ballistics report.

That would not be ready until tomorrow however.

Sherlock glanced at the photograph accompanying the article. His eyes landed on the wife of Brightman.

Fiona Hardwick-Brightman.

She may have known about the scandal that Irene was threatening to cause before she married Jackson Brightman. Doubtful Brightman Sr or Jackson could have kept it from her.

But she wasn't the one conned by her... but would she be willing to kill for her husband? Be willing to kill because of the threat of humiliation that was hanging above her head all those years ago?

Be willing to kill because the woman dared to come back?

Sherlock sighs.

So many people with a grudge.

Grudges don't die. They never do.

Who would have been willing to kill for said grudge?


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death In Prior Chapters.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8- Things Start Coming Together<strong>

**Date: August 23, 2010**

**Location: Brightman's Home**

**Time: 3 pm**

* * *

><p>Jackson Brightman had the air of a man who was confident, knew how to get what he wanted and had no problems doing so, and knew he had influence.<p>

Sherlock didn't like him.

He didn't when he first met him, by introduction of his father, and certainly doesn't like him either. And he doesn't care for the tall thin brunette, Fiona Hardwick-Brightman ,sitting next to the man on the sofa.

While Jackson and Fiona answered Lestrades questions, Sherlock decided he had most of his answers already. He just needed proof.

Usually when he voiced his theories, the criminals reacted, proving him correct. But he knew he had to be careful with this, even without Lestrade telling him. He wasn't stupid.

With suspects like the Brightmans and the Søndergaard's, ones who had money and the best lawyers that money could buy, you had to go about things a little differently.

Right now, he was waiting to hear from John. He originally was going to come with them to Brightmans. However when Lestrade said the ballistics report would come in today, Sherlock asked him to go take a look at it. Most likely it was on his desk now.

"Sorry, excuse me," Lestrade says as Sherlock hears the man's mobile ringing, interrupting the Q and A.

"Hello? What?.. Donovan, just let him look at it. Let him look at it. Because I'm saying so. Don't argue with me. Good." Lestrade ends the call and pockets his mobile. "Apologies once more, just my Detective Sergeant."

Most likely complaining about letting John have a look at the ballistics report.

"Believe me, Detective Inspector, I can understand why you would think my wife or I would be plausible suspects in Adler's death," Jackson Brightman says smoothly. "It's all plausible, especially if Mr Holmes told you what he knows."

"He told me a little about what he was involved with the last time Irene Adler was here. Quite the pickle you got into it."

Fiona Hardwick-Brightman's mouth tightened.

Jackson shrugs. "I was stupid."

His wife apparently agreed to that.

"Also, another reason why we needed to talk to you-"

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, do you have a washroom?" Sherlock speaks up. "I-"

"No need, Mr Holmes, use my wife's, it's down the hall by the master bedroom."

Sherlock nods, and gets up, glad to be out of the presence of those two. It baffles him on how they are perceived as popular and easy to get along with. Both of them are cold.

Out of view now, Sherlock passes the washroom, walking into the bedroom. It's time to search. He only has a few minutes.

It's not until he finds a hidden panel in the walk in closet that he hits something.

A gun.

An old one.

Sherlock looks at the case it's in. There's dust around it, but some of the dust has been disturbed. The case has been opened recently.

He takes out his mobile, takes a couple pictures of the gun, and the bullets resting beside it. Only four. There are spots for seven.

Could Brightman really be so careless?

Sherlock takes a couple more pictures, then leaves, stopping in the washroom to complete the usual sounds of one finishing their business and then comes back to the main sitting room as Lestrade is starting to put on his coat.

"Oh, done already?"

"Was just about to come get you. We're done. Thank you for your time."

"Not a problem, Detective Inspector." They shake hands, and Jackson turns to Sherlock. "Unfortunate that every time we meet is because of her, but it was good to see you."

"As always, same with you," Sherlock nods to them and follows Lestrade out the door.

"All right, give me," Lestrade says the moment they are in a cab.

"Brightman has a gun. Old. Rare I imagine, will know more about it when I get some more data."

"Think it's been used recently?"

"It's locked so I couldn't find out, but the dust around it has been disturbed so it has been opened recently."

"Why would he keep the gun if he used it?"

"People are stupid."

"Well other than that.."

"Value. It is worth a lot of money no doubt. Plus, he's Jackson Brightman," Sherlock says with thick sarcasm. "Took a picture of the bullets in the case too."

"So what are you thinking?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "Not going to voice anything until I get more data. I know what is at risk here, Lestrade."

"Normally that wouldn't affect you. You would still barrel on through."

"Normally. But I need both arms to do that," Sherlock says dryly. His mobile buzzes then, and Sherlock gets it out checking his messages.

"Ah, and the head of Berkeley's hotel has what I need. Looks like I know where my next stop is." Sherlock then sends the images of the gun and bullets to Lestrade. "Sent the photographs to you."

"Thanks," Lestrade sounds a little surprised. Sherlock does like doing that.

"So did you get their alibis?"

"Brightman was doing his rounds at the party, chatting up everyone. He says he ducked out for a smoke a couple times, but can't recall the times he went."

"He has a convenient alibi," Sherlock murmurs. "He made a point to be visible to so many, others who never talked to him would claim they saw him. His smoke breaks would be minimal, not enough time to get up the suite..." Sherlock scowls. "And Mrs Brightman?"

"She chatted with Lavaard for a while, then Sarino. Although, here's an interesting bit. She remembers Sarino and Lavaard in the corner, looking to have a heated argument. Not a loud one, probably mindful of the place and company, but an argument nonetheless."

Location: The Berkeley Hotel, Security

Time: 4:40pm

"So, here are the logs," Mr Roberts points on the computer screens Sherlock is currently staring at. "Every time there's a glitch, it's reported. Every time a request for maintenance is put in, we log it, and we prepare to do the work to fix it."

"All right. So where is the log for the Chelsea Suite."

The head of Security scrolls through several pages and then stops.

"Date and times each time the key card was swiped and the door opened."

"Just need the logs for the twenty first..."

"Almost there.. ah see."

Sherlock bends over, taking a closer look.

_Key swiped at four am._

_Key swiped at seven am._

_Key swiped at ten twenty am._

_Key swiped at twelve twenty one am._

_Key swiped at seven fifteen pm._

_Key swiped at one twelve pm._

_Key swiped at four pm._

_Key swiped again at seven pm._

"No swipes inbetween four and seven. She was killed around a quarter of six."

"Huh."

Sherlock catches the tone of the Head's voice. Curious.

"What is it?"

"Well, it's just a bit.. I don't know what to call it. Coincidence I suppose. But-" The man slides over a piece of paper. "Every day we get reports about anything that's malfunctioning or glitching. On the twenty first, a report was turned in early morning that fifteen rooms needed maintenance on the security locks for the doors. Basically people were still able to enter their rooms by swiping their key card, but the glitch was that it was not recording on our logs, and when the door shut it would not lock fully. The guest would have to press the button we have that's right by the door handle, a manual lock."

"Interesting," Sherlock murmurs. "What does this have to do with the lack of swipes and the time she was killed?"

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Scotland Yard-<strong>

**Time: 4:48 pm**

* * *

><p>John looks up from his spot by Sgt Donovan's desk as he sees Lestrade striding inside, holding a cup of coffee.<p>

"Where's Sherlock?" John asks as he drops the ballistics report back on Donovan's desk and standing. He ignores Donovan's baleful glare.

"Dropped him off at the hotel. He wanted to have a look at the security logs. So what did ballistics say?"

"According to your expert, it's a rare one." John picks up the report. ".32RF Hopkins & Allen XL No 3. Revolver. Mouthful. Anyways the bullets made for it haven't been made in ages. If you have any, you're lucky. He has a picture of one sold at auction, attached."

Lestrade takes the report and looks it over, checking out the photograph. His eyes widen, and he takes out his mobile.

John wonders exactly what he's look for.

The DI suddenly smiles. but it's a grim one.

"Well, Mr Brightman happens to have one from the looks." Lestrade shows John the picture text. "I think we have enough to get a warrant to check out that gun." He groans. "Now I just have to figure out how to explain it all."

"Good luck. By the way, how did you get the-"

"Sherlock snooped."

John rolls his eyes. "Right, of course. Well I better contact him, let him know."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: The Berkeley<strong>

**Time: Same Time**

* * *

><p>"Everything," Mr Roberts explains as Sherlock listens patiently. "We were doing the maintenance run on the doors at five o'clock. It takes an hour to complete to fix that type of glitch. When we fix it, we disarm the security measure on the lock so we can properly go in and fix it. Even the button to manually lock it wouldn't work."<p>

"So people could come and go when they chose." Sherlock grimaces as he hears his phone ring. "Hold that thought please." He checks the caller. John. He must have information on the gun then.

"Yes, John?"

"The ballistics report matches the gun that you took a picture of," John's voice says on the other end. "He's working on getting a warrant. Might be a bit tricky."

"He'll manage," Sherlock comments. "Where are you?"

"Still at the yard."

"You're no good to me there. I need you here."

"On my way, just don't do anything."

"Like what?"

"Anything stupid."

Sherlock scowls but is unable to make a proper retort as John ends the call.

"All right, Mr Roberts, you were going to say?"

Mr Roberts grimaces. "Unfortunately, yes guests could come and go from those rooms. When we were going through the process, Mr Søndergaard came in a couple minutes before five thirty with word that Mr Kingston was having problems with the security lock on his door. It wasn't accepting the swipes of the key cards without having to scan it more than twice. So we initiated the procedure to take care of the glitch."

"You disabled the security lock to fix it. This was Sarino Søndergaard correct?"

He nods. "Yes. I always make sure to look at the their eyes when I speak to one of them. He left, and then came back again ten minutes later."

"Oh?"

"Wanted to check on the progress. Then he spoke on his phone for maybe a minute and then left again."

Sherlock stares past Mr Roberts, contemplating everything the man said. "Tell me, how quiet are those doors if they are opened without the key-card?"

"Quiet. You always here the doors when they get unlocked with the key card. Without the system in place, the doors open with a whisper."

And there it is.

_Oh...ohhhh... how nice it is to finally know. Yes... yes, it is._

That was how her killer got in.

That was how Irene's killer got so close.

Clever, clever, her killer was. Quite clever, but not clever enough. Sherlock smiles, immensely satisfied now that little part of the mystery is solved.

Irene didn't hear him enter.

Irene didn't fight back because she never heard her killer enter the room... until it was too late.

"Do you have a master key card? I need to go up to the Chelsea Suite."


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death In Prior Chapters.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine- A Surprise<strong>

**Location: The Chelsea Suite Of The Berkeley Hotel**

**Time: 5:30**

* * *

><p>After ducking under the crime scene tape, Sherlock enters the suite. It took him some convincing to get the key-card, and a quick phone call to get it. He hears the electronic beep caused by the key-card. It's loud enough to be heard, most definitely. If you were in the main room,you could probably hear the slight woosh of the door opening if the security lock was not working.<p>

Sherlock closes the door, and moves through the suite, pausing in the bedroom.

"But you were here, Irene," he murmurs, "so you did not hear any sound." He steps further in the room, softly on the carpeting. Housekeeping hadn't cleaned up yet, so he could still see the dried blood on the sheets.

And he could still see the image of her body, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Eyes that were now fixed with the permanent expression of resignation.

* * *

><p><em><strong>September 24, 2006<strong>_

_**Time: Afternoon**_

**_"So why come to London?" Sherlock asks as they walk over the bridge. She was talking about home, looking quite resigned in those dark brown eyes that could act very well. If he was anyone else he would have fallen for the act of Irene just being a wide eyed American tourist._**

**_"Needed a change. Needed something different. I love home.. just.. I wanted to explore."_**

**_Sherlock could understand that. He explored when he had the first chance. Traveling to so many different countries before ultimately going to Uni. Something else he had in common with Irene Adler._**

**_Science and exploring._**

**_He didn't want anything in common with Irene. He just wanted what she had._**

**_"What's that look for?"_**

**_"Sorry?"_**

**_"You looked annoyed."_**

**_"Hmm. Apologies. I was just thinking."_**

**_"Pound for your thoughts? Or is that too much?"_**

**_"Too much. But no worries."_**

**_"All right. By the way, I should thank you for this."_**

**_"No need, I had nothing else to do." Except figure out how to get the DVD._**

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Sherlock shakes his head, banishing the memory. It was unfortunate that a woman like Irene, one with intelligence and cunning, who was clever, yet ruthless as well, was so equally frustrating.

Her involvement caused him to act desperate to finish a case.

"So, you sat on the bed. Scared," he says aloud. Where is John when he needs him. "You knew you'd been found out, so you didn't dare to leave your suite. You thought you were safe. But you still texted me. Hoping I'd come... but you must have known I would refuse. You knew I would. Yet you tried."

Sherlock refuses to feel guilty. She brought her death to herself, with her lifestyle, with her choices. He would not have been able to save her even if he did come to help.

He still wonders why she asked him, considering her views on asking for help...

* * *

><p><em><strong>September 24th, 2006<strong>_

_**Time: Late Afternoon**_

_**"I think it's a weakness."**_

_**Sherlock raises an eyebrow at that. "Asking for help?"**_

_**"Yes. We all have our ways of solving our problems. Most of them caused by our own self. We can find a way to solve them. Asking for help just makes it more problematic. You end up owing people."**_

_**Sherlock finds himself uncomfortably agreeing with that. Strange that he and this woman would have certain aspects in common. He didn't care for asking for help either.**_

_**His attention is grabbed by someone passing him, and he recognizes the signs in the glassy eyes and the red nose...**_

_**And the itch starts up again. He's been clean for a while now. The burning need-**_

_**No. No. NO. He is stronger than that. He has the power, the control of his mind and body. He needs the sharper and clearer edges, not the duller ones.**_

_**Sherlock takes a minute to control himself and turns his attention back to Irene Adler.**_

_**"Interesting insight," he drawls.**_

_**"I am right. I don't want to be in debt to anyone, I want to remain independent, not needing anyone's help. I can survive on my own, I have survived on my own." She smiles. "I bet your like that too."**_

_**"We just met. How do you think that?"**_

_**"Your eyes, Mr Holmes," She says, her lips curving upward slightly, her own brown eyes gleaming. "They've seen a lot, I imagine, and you survived. I believe the phrase the eyes are the window to the soul."**_

_**"True," Sherlock concedes. He dislikes having ideas, thoughts, or interests in common with Irene Adler.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

He told John they only had science in common. He didn't want to admit what the others were. The other commonalities they had were minor, but they were enough to bother him.

Just like there are commonalities between him and Moriarty. Even more so...

Irene Adler, according to the file that Mycroft had smugly left behind when she had been sent back to the States, grew up in rough conditions. Couldn't make it as an actress, but had talent, wit, and a cleverness that was able to outdo Sherlock.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

She survived on the streets, moved upwards, determined to never rely on anyone for help and to remain independent. She turned into a con artist to succeed at that.

Sherlock knew she was another another aspect to him, of what he is capable of doing. Fooling people. Tricking them.

Moriarty was one too. The darker aspect, the one that didn't have the influences in his life that Sherlock does. Nor a stable mind.

He was what Sherlock and others would fear Sherlock would eventually become.. if unchecked.

Sherlock's scowls at that. He didn't kill people because he was bored.

He didn't put John into that bomb vest...

Yes you did.

Sherlock scowls at the thought, that guilty thought that kept on creeping up when he wasn't ready. He shoves it to the side as he hears his mobile ring.

He takes it out, the movement once more awkward. Once again wishing both of his arms were usable.

John's number.

"Sherlock."

"Lestrade just called me. He's doing what he can with the warrant, but he's not making any promises.."

"Not surprising."

"Might be a while before he gets it, if he can."

Sherlock nods. "And?"

"I'm almost at the hotel. By the way as I was leaving the Yard, I overheard Donovan with one of the witnesses. A Christiana Farnsworth. She was a waitress at the party. Said that Brightman went missing for exactly ten minutes between five thirty and six. And she doesn't recall it being a smoke break, because he passed her when he came back in and he didn't smell of smoke."

"Ahhhh."

"So.. Brightman killed her."

"Looks like."

"There's something you're not telling me."

"Sarino put it together... he arranged a way for Brightman to enter the Suite without being heard. Said that Kingston complained about the security door and needed it added to the list of doors needing fixing. No doubt he was having issues, but Søndergaard took advantage of the situation. Made sure to come back a few minutes later to see if it was down. Then made a call."

"Let me guess. Brightman."

"Mr Roberts said it was only a minute long. Didn't hear what was said. But if you use your imagination-"

"Right. Suppose it's always good to know how your security system works if you want to help commit a murder."

"Yes, indeed."

"Where are you by the way?"

"The Chelsea Suite." Sherlock hears the sound of a cab door being opened and shut. "Sounds like you arrived."

"I have. Do you think something was missed?"

"The bullet casing. Match the bullet casing to bullets that Brightman has.. we got him."

"Right. Well I'm almost there. Just stay put."

"I'm not a dog."

"No, you're more like a cat. You never listen."

"Only when it suits me."

Sherlock chuckles, and ends the call. putting the mobile back in his pocket. He goes to stand at the side of the bed. With how Irene was position, she had to have been getting ready to get out of bed.. when she either finally heard or saw something.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Just Entering The Berkeley Hotel<strong>

**Time: 5:30**

* * *

><p>John pockets his mobile as he heads through the reception lobby of the hotel, only to pause as he sees the Søndergaard brothers standing near a maid's housekeeping cart, one looking like he wants to strangle the other... while the other seems calm.<p>

Both of them are engrossed in their conversation, that John is sure they don't realize that he's noticed them. He takes out his mobile, and puts it up to his ear, making it seem like he's engrossed in a conversation with someone. Then he takes a brochure of the hotel as he passes the reception desk.

The brothers are just a few feet away, oblivious, only aware of each other. John can't tell which one is which, not without looking at their eyes. He can't risk that right now. His gut is telling him he needs to hear this, and he can't blow the cover he has, however slight it is.

"I can't believe you actually went through with it," The angry brother hisses.

"It had to be done," the calm one says coldly. "You wouldn't have done it."

"Wanting to get even is one thing, but murder is entirely different!"

"I didn't pull the trigger, brother."

"No, Brightman did."

"And my contact just told me that Yard is trying to get a warrant for him."

"It'll take time. By then everything will be sorted. Calm down."

"Calm down? You set this whole thing up."

"And you opened the door for it, brother."

"Sherlock Holmes has a reputation. He's in the Chelsea Suite now.. according to Mr Roberts, he's looking for something. No doubt he'll find something that will pin this on all of us. I am not going to prison because of this."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of Sherlock Holmes-"

John doesn't bother to hear anymore, he quietly walks away, glad that the lifts were in the other direction. As he gets into the lift, thankfully alone, John tosses the brochure down on the floor, and he dials Lestrade's number.

"Lestrade."

"The Søndergaard brothers are in on it. One of them at least set it up," John says without any introduction, willing the lift to get up the Chelsea Suite quickly.

Lestrade curses.

"I know. I overheard them quarreling about it."

"Where are you?"

"On my way to the Chelsea Suite. Sherlock is there. One of the brothers has a plan regarding him, and I'm not taking any chances. I'm getting him out of here as quick as I can."

"Do that. I'm sending Donovan over. Maybe she can get the other brother to turn, because I doubt I'll get the warrant in time."

John nods, and ends the call. The lift doors open and as he steps out, he sees down the hall that the door is open to the suite.

**Location: The Chelsea Suite**

**Time: Just a couple minutes later**

Think.. think.. Sherlock demands to himself,

If she didn't see anything...then she heard it. She would look up.

Gun.

No way to run.

Maybe an exchange of words? Irene accepting her fate. She wouldn't plead. Beg. She wasn't the sort.

Then Brightman shot her. Pocket his gun. Go back to the party.

Act as he usually does. Make sure to be visible to so many people. Enough people see you, remember you, your alibi would be tight. Wouldn't matter if a couple people say they saw you leave for a few minutes.

The waitress would be told she was mistaken.

So the casing.. the casing would have fallen out..right here. By the side of the bed.. but it's not visible.

He knows no one found the bullet casing. So it is still here.

Sherlock frowns, and then places his free hand on the nightstand and lowers himself to his knees. Nothing by the edges of the nightstand. He awkward positions himself with a slight grunt (Really, the sooner he gets rid of this blasted sling, the better), and looks under the bed.

Ahhh.. there's a glint.. the casing.

It's right in the middle. As if the Brightman ended up kicking it with his shoe.

Not caring in the slightest.

"Brightman, you are an idiot," Sherlock says with a shake of his head. Then again he kept the gun too. Any self respecting murderer with at least a tiny bit of intelligence, and the amount of money at his disposal that Brightman had would have destroyed it the first chance he got.

But no, the arrogance of Jackson Brightman would be his undoing.

Sherlock glares at the casing though. He can't get it this way. He'll have to use something to get it out.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock whirls around to see John rushing into the room. "Bedroom."

John takes a few long strides into the bedroom. "We need to go. Now. One of the Søndergaard brothers helped set it up. I phoned Lestrade. Donovan is on her way."

"I know. Sarino."

"Yes, well he's on his way. He knows you're up here looking for something."

Sherlock accepts that. "I found it. You need to get it, I am a little hampered. Underneath the bed, in the middle."

"The casing."

Sherlock nods. Like he expected, John grumbles, and gets down to his knees and reaches under the bed. Sherlock smiles as he hears a couple choice words sent in his direction.

John gets out from under and stands, the casing in hand. "All right, we have it. Time to go."

Sherlock nods, and before they turn around to leave, both still at the sound of a gun being cocked.

"Knew he would mess up," A familiar male voice says, sounding resigned and irritated. "And knew you would find it.. Brightman always was a fool."

Sherlock inhales sharply. He knows John has his gun, but he can't draw it out just yet. Sherlock and John exchange glances.

"Turn around, gentlemen. I don't care to shoot you in the back."

Well with that said, they both turn.

Sherlock sees the gun, and then the man standing just a few feet away.

Lavaard Søndergaard was standing in front of him, holding the gun.

Sherlock just proved himself right.

Never discount the quiet ones.


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10- The Motive Is Revealed<strong>

**Location: The Chelsea Suite**

**Time: Almost 6 pm**

**Date: August 23, 2010**

* * *

><p>"You were the one that came into the security room the second time," Sherlock states, staying calm, cool.<p>

Brightman was the killer. Lavaard Søndergaard was the one that just took advantage of an opening and put everything into place.

Søndergaard scowls. "I take it you think you have everything thought out."

"Oh yes, things are indeed coming together." Sherlock says coolly. He notices a twitch from John. He knows the doctor wants to reach from his gun, but so far he hasn't made a move. "Your presence is helping with that."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. You wanted Mr Roberts to think it was your brother Sarino, and the easiest way to do that is a coloured contact. The right one, and nobody would think any differently. You heard Kendrick Kingston making some comments about the security lock on the door, you knew that your brother went to Mr Roberts to add it on the list. You knew when the maintenance would begin. You seized an opportunity. It was already planned, the only issue for you and Brightman was when."

Søndergaard's mouth curves into a bitter smile. "Oh you are good. I heard the stories, but it is nice to see the gossip confirmed. Yes to all of that. Brightman came by to visit at the flat, venting about Irene's reappearance as Mrs Adrianna Kingston. Wanting to do something."

"He could have just unmasked her to the entire crowd," John speaks up then. "Tell Kingston about it. Both of you. Why kill her?"

"How could we unmask her when she made it a point to seclude herself? And tell Kendrick? Hah. He was over the moon about her, he wouldn't believe a harsh word about her. As for the why on killing her-"

"Pride and ego," Sherlock supplies, and the gun wavers over to him. He doesn't flinch, but he notices John's scowl. He notices John is tense.

"I suppose you can say it like that."

"She almost killed your company. She killed your brother's marriage. She killed your faith, your faith in thinking everyone deserved some help now and then. As for Brightman, she would have killed any chance of his marriage and his reputation."

"We had to move our company to a different country," Søndergaard snarls, the easy going, shy nature of the man gone. In it's place, a man that is angry, wounded, and ready to strike. "The scandal nearly sunk us. My brother lost his wife, his reputation in our homeland, rights to see his children... She played me for a fool."

"You were in love with her." Sherlock states bluntly. Søndergaard winces. "You didn't have the physical relationship with her. That was your brother. But you fell for her, just the same. She knew, that was why she came to you for money."

"Sherlock," John says quietly, "easy-"

"And she dared to come back!" Søndergaard growls out, his hand tightening on the gun. "That woman had no right to come back, flaunting in our faces that she was here, that she had another on the crook of her finger, that she could mingle with us and none of us could do anythign without revealing our own history. The gall. She nearly killed the three of us."

"So you and Brightman decided to literally kill her."

"Sarino wanted no part in it. No guts. His life was torn to shreds because of her as well. Yet he didn't want any part. He acts like the tough one, but when push comes to shove-"

"He apparently has more morals than you," Sherlock says coldly.

The gun points directly at him this time, and John quickly moves in front of Sherlock, much to his dismay.

"John, get out of the way."

"No," John says firmly. He stays directly in front of Sherlock. In front of the gun. If Søndergaard shoots, John gets hit.

Sherlock nerves start to strain at the thought.

"What are you doing?" Søndergaard lets out a laugh. "Being a fool?"

"Not quite," John says coldly. "I've been shot before, so if you shoot me it's not something I haven't experienced. I'm not afraid to die, I've nearly done it."

"You're willing to die, for him?"

No. No. No he's not. He's not worth dying for. Why is John doing this? He did this at the pool with Moriarty... telling Sherlock to run. Willing to go up with the bomb, to take Moriary with him.

"Yes."

Sherlock almost recoils at the finality of John's statement. Just simply stated, just like John. His own mind barely able to accept it.

"You're a fool," Søndergaard says bluntly. "To be willing to die for someone else."

"If that someone else is worth it, then I hardly think I'm a fool." John counters, and Sherlock's nerves strain a bit more.

John seems to think there's something in Sherlock worth sacrificing for. Sherlock simply doesn't know what to make of that.

"She was causing no harm to you," Sherlock says, trying to get things under control. To keep the mind of the man with the gun off of John. "

"How can you say that? She was here! That's all she needed to do was to be here! She cost us damn near everything!" Apparently Sherlock's statement made the Søndergaard brother start to unravel. Anger is over taking him. He's losing control. The hand with the gun is shaking. Sherlock watches as John starts to reach under his coat. "She deserved to die. Brightman had every right to put a bullet in her brain!"

John's gun is firmly in his hand now, not showing. Despite not liking how this is playing out, Sherlock is at least partially relieved to have John here.

"Drop the gun, Søndergaard, this will only end badly for you." Sherlock knows he said it with some dramatics there, but he doesn't care. It fits.

He scoffs. "Right. There's no one else but you two. You have a lame arm, and I doubt very much your self sacrificing friend either has a gun or knows how to shoot one. So who here has a gun other than I?"

Faster than a blink, John aims his gun at Søndergaard. He even looks surprised, and the gun in his hand wavers.

"Never good to make assumptions," John says coldly. "Drop the gun, Søndergaard. The police are on there way. They know about you and your brother being involved, I talked to them before coming up here." John says, scolding almost. "You two don't pay much attention to your surroundings when you argue."

"You stupid son of a-"

"Careful," Sherlock blinks at the deadly tone in John's voice. He hasn't heard that before. "Drop the gun. Your hand is shaking, you don't have the experience with a gun, I also highly doubt you have the stomach to shoot one of us. Brightman is the killer. Not you."

Eyes narrow then. Sherlock takes advantage of the man's attention staying on John. He reaches back with his good arm, to grab the heavy lamp.

"You shoot me, you have no evidence," Søndergaard says after a minute, apparently finding a way to shore up his confidence. His hand has stopped shaking, and once more is pointing directly at them.. well John since he's in front of Sherlock.

Don't think about that. Sherlock's commands himself. He tightens the grip on the lamp. He just needs John to move... the guns to lower...

"You just have a dead wealthy, influential businessman who has a lot of ties on the floor in front of you," he continues. Despite being confident, he obviously does not see that John does not care what he is saying.

Sherlock doesn't have to see John's face to know that.

Criminals can be so stupid sometimes. Blind to what is in front of them.

"It'll be only your word to protect you. And what good will that do? Especially against my brother and Brightman?"

"I really couldn't care less," John says coldly. There's a moment of silence. Søndergaard looks stunned by that.

He apparently expected John to be swayed by that.

Again, criminals are stupid.

"Have you ever been shot, Søndergaard?" John asks, still as cold as earlier, but in a low tone. "Lower the gun or I will kill you."

That finally seems to get through to Søndergaard. He finally seems to see John. Fear flickers in his eyes, and his stance relaxes. He lowers the gun. Sets it on the floor and sits on the bed.

Several things happen at once then.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Down in the lobby of the Berkeley Hotel<strong>

**Time: A few minutes past six pm**

* * *

><p>Sally Donovan looks at the brother. Sarino Søndergaard. When she came into the hotel, she instantly tracked the man down and said that they needed to have a talk. The tough talking Dutchman lasted about a minute before spilled everything.<p>

"Is that what the two of you were arguing about at the party?" Donovan asks, remembering the notes she read that Lestrade took during his interview with the Brightmans.

Sarino Søndergaard nods miserably. "Brightman came back when he was done, said the problem was now taken care of. I caught the look in my brother's eye when he said that. And I knew. I told him it was stupid. It was rash. He wanted revenge for the pain and humiliation she caused us. Brightman did to. They said the party was the perfect cover for it."

"We will need you to testify. I'm sure a QC will make some sort of deal with you for your cooperation, despite holding back pivotal information." Sgt Donovan always hated that. The ones with money somehow always got to make some sort of deal.

"I'll do it."

She's surprised that he's willing to testify against his own brother. But the cynical side of her says he's doing it just to save face. Apparently with this one, blood is not thicker than water.

"I know what you're thinking. My brother and I are close, but there's no way I'm going to prison for his mistakes. Or Brightman's."

Huh. Practical. "Where is your brother now?"

Sarino Søndergaard face pales. "Oh hell."

She goes cold. "Where is he?"

"The Chelsea Suite. A few minutes ago. The Head of Security told him Sherlock Holmes was up there. Mr Holmes was told by Mr Roberts about how I supposedly came back a second time to confirm that the security lock on the door was down. He most likely figured something out. Went up there to do.. whatever."

John Watson went to go get the Freak, according to Lestrade. And no word yet from Lestrade if that's happened.

She jerks her head to the other two Sergeants with her to keep an eye on the brother, while she makes a phone call.

A few seconds later, her boss answers.

"What is it Donovan?"

"Have you heard back from the Freak and Watson?"

"Not yet. I imagine Doctor Watson would tell me when he got Sherlock safely out of the suite. No call though."

Shite. "We need more back up here. And you might want to get an ambulance to come to. Just as a precaution."

"What's going on Donovan?"

She scowls. "I haven't seen either one of them. And Sarino Søndergaard said his brother went up to the Chelsea Suite. He was told the Freak was up there."

"Get up that Suite Donovan!"

"On it," She snaps. She nods to Sgt Caswell. "Come with me. We have to go rescue the freak and the doctor. You," she points to the other Sgt. "Stay here with him, more are coming."

If this gets her killed, she's going to haunt the Freak for the rest of his pathetic life.

It doesn't take her and Caswell to get to the lift. When they step out on the floor, they hear yells and various sounds that sound like a fight.

Instantly, Donovan takes out her extendable baton, and reaches for her canister of OC gas. She notices Caswell does as well.

The door to the suite is wide open, and when they enter, Sgt Sally Donovan gets a good look at the scene.

Freak sitting on the floor against the wall, a cut on his head, looking dazed.

John Watson struggling with Søndergaard, and a gun lying on the floor.

A few minutes later

Sgt Sally Donovan stares at the body of Søndergaard, now dead. His gun in her hands. Her baton and OC gas canister scattered in the mess of the main room, her nose bleeding.

She could hear Doctor Watson telling Sgt Caswell he had a dislocated shoulder. She can hear the wails of the sirens outside, thanks to the open window. Soon Lestrade and others will be up here.

Her rational mind was able to piece it together, now that there was no longer a threat. And despite what the Freak may think about her, she does have a rational mind.

One minute she and Sgt Caswell split the men apart. Caswell got John over to the Freak.

They were in the process of subduing Søndergaard, when he took hold of Caswell, and had a piece of broken glass from the coffee table at his throat.

Donovan didn't even think. She grabbed the gun on the floor just a couple feet away.

_"Drop it, Søndergaard, now," she orders. She knew what type of gun it is even though she isn't an AFO. A Glock 17, as she makes sure a bullet is chambered and aims steady, straight at him._

_He doesn't answer, just sneers, and moves to cut the cut._

_She fires._

_Dead center between the eyes._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: I suck at writing fight scenes. I really do. So I make do with my shortcomings by doing what I did above. Also thanks to lovely research, AFO's are Authorised Firearms Officers, the only ones allow to carry firearms. Sgt Donovan, Lestrade unfortunately are not one of them.<strong>


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11-A Letter For Sherlock Holmes<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: A little past 10 am.**

**Date: August 24th 2010**

* * *

><p>"Here you go."<p>

John gratefully accepts the cuppa Lestrade sets down in front of him. He's exhausted, and his voice is rough from all the talking he had to do.

He imagines everyone else is as well. Been quite the long night last night, and already an equally long morning. Everything has been non stop since last night. The media swooping in as well hasn't helped anyone either.

Several hours of giving statements. And no doubt it will continue the next couple of days, during the formal investigation of Sgt Donovan being involved in a shooting, as well as John and Sherlock's involvement in the incident.

"How's your arm?"

"Just a couple cuts," John shrugs it off. The fight gave him some bruising, some cuts on his arm. He had lost his gun during the fight, but with some of the confusion that reigned at the suite, he was able to get it without anyone the wiser.

Thankfully John and Sherlock were not questioned extensively first, as they had to go to the A&E to get checked out. Luckily no damage was done to Sherlock's healing arm when he was clocked by Søndergaard and sent into a wall. No concussion either, just going to have an aching head for a little bit.

When they were released, John asked to first get a few hours of sleep and they'll be in bright and early to make their statements. Lestrade let it happen. So John was able to tuck his gun away and not worry about getting caught with it.

"Sherlock all right as well?"

John nods.

"Well with Sarino Søndergaard's testimony, we were finally able to get the warrant. Brightman, unaware of what was going on, or thinking there was no way we would be able to get the warrant, still had the gun in his closet. Everything matched. Despite his counsel telling to keep his mouth shut, Brightman is spilling all, thinking apparently he'll be able to get some sympathy or deal out of the matter." Lestrade's annoyed tone tells John what he thinks of that.

"Will Donovan-"

"After the inquiries are over, I'm sure everything will be sorted. She did what she had to do. With the accounts from Sherlock, Sgt Caswell, and you, it'll help also."

"I imagine Kendrick Kingston has been informed of everything?"

"Yes. And despite everything, he's apparently arranging for Irene's body to be flown back to their home for the funeral, and he stated she'll be buried as Adrianna Kingston. I'm not going to try to understand but if it helps him, then good for him." Lestrade sighs. "By the way, Sherlock left a few minutes ago. Got a letter from a lawyer, and he said to tell you he went to the mortuary."

John digests that for a minute. "Don't suppose it's the one that has Irene Adler's body?"

"I suppose it is. She hasn't been released to Kingston yet as he's still finalizing everything."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Hospital Mortuary<strong>

**Time: Almost 10:30 am**

* * *

><p>He leans against the wall, waiting for the attendant to let him. A folded piece of paper in his right hand. He's read it twice now. Ever since the lawyer appeared at the Yard asking for him.<p>

"Excuse me, could you point me towards Sherlock Holmes?" An older woman, dark red hair, green eyes. Sherlock looks her over. Smoker. Divorced. Dressed sharply... lawyer perhaps. Most likely.

"I am Sherlock Holmes." He says, turning to face her. He was waiting for John to finish up with Lestrade.

"I was instructed to give you this in the event of her death," the dark haired woman said handing him a plain white envelope./b

While waiting for John, he read the letter.

When he finished, Lestrade was passing him, a cup of tea in hand. John needed one. He informed Lestrade where he was going, and to let John know.

Now he's here.

Sherlock gives in and reads it one more time.

**Sherlock Holmes.**

**I always thought you had quite the interesting name. You definitely would not have done well in the games I played, unless you wanted to change your name. Which we all know you would never do.**

**If you are reading this, then it's the old cliche. I'm dead. I'm married now. And he travels a lot. I assume at some point I'll end up going with him to a place where my past will emerge.**

**If it happens in London, I can only hope you'll be helping the Yard solve it. If not, then well my murder will never be solved. I can live with that.**

**For the record, I knew from the moment you approached me that day, that something was fishy as it were. So I did some discreet checking. My thoughts were confirmed. Can't con a conman so to speak, or a woman in my case. You did one hell of a job though, and if I wasn't so paranoid, I would never have seen it coming.**

**Also for the record, the DVD never existed. Why waste money on somethng like recording equipment that works? The illusion of something working is far cheaper and does the job quicker.**

**I make no apologies for who I was and what I did. It's how I survived. You know all about survival. We all do the things we have to do, in order to survive.**

**I have to admit I was getting bored with the game. Jackson Brightman was too easy. It was all getting to be too easy. Then, as fate would have it, you happened along. I felt quite invigorated, trying to keep one step ahead of you. By the way, you put my soap back wrong enough for me to tell that it was put back wrong. That was how I knew you were in my flat that first time.**

**You're not the only one who paid attention to detail.**

**I kept track of you by the way. Visited your website all the time. Got information from others. You**

**also aren't the only one with contacts.**

**You were quite the opponent, Sherlock Holmes. I salute you on that. You kept me on my toes. I always loved a good challenge, and you gave it. So exciting it was. Pity we never got the chance to butt heads again. I would have severely enjoyed it.**

**Although I doubt you would have. I bet you are still mad about what happened. I imagine you hold a serious grudge against me. After all how many people can claim they got one over on the great Sherlock Holmes?**

**Well, my dear Sherlock Holmes, take a little piece of advice.**

**Let it go.**

**Irene Adler (Although hopefully I'll be staying Adrianna Kingston)**

"Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock jerks his gaze from the letter to the coroner who's at the entrance. "Yes?"

"You said you wanted to see Ms Kingston?"

"Yes, I did."

He nods, and opens the door. "Just a few minutes, Mr Holmes. Mr Kingston is going to be arriving soon."

"Thank you," he murmurs, stepping past him. He walks past the three empty slabs, until he finds Irene Adler.

The sight of her, laying still, her eyes closed, her dark brown hair lying flat against the slab. He leans against the wall, looking at her. Trying to sort this all out.

He came to refer to her as The Woman. In his mind, and in conversation if she was ever brought up.

The grudge he bears against her for outwitting him, bubbles only a little.

The resentment that he was bested (How he hates that word!) by her swells only a little.

The thoughts on what he wanted to say to her, should they ever meet again, swirl around in his mind.

"You were certainly the clever one," Sherlock says quietly. He honestly thinks there is no point in talking to the dead, although he knows several coroners that do. "I was willing to admit that to John. I wasn't prepared for the level of your cleverness. Nor the intelligence you had."

Silence. What did he expect?

He makes a sound in irritation. This is not like talking to his skull. When he had it. Although when he did, he still sought out John.

_John._

John being foolish.

He'll get back to that later.

"Your husband is going to bury you as Adrianna Kingston. Hope that pleases you. Although I can't figure out why you would want to live under an assumed name, when you conned freely with your given name." And he'll never know why either. Her letter didn't give an answer to that.

He hated unanswered questions.

Let it go.

Argh. She was trying to manipulate him out of his grudge. While she was dead! Her letter was her last attempt to just get one more on him.

It was almost insulting.

Almost.

You kept me on my toes. I always loved a good challenge, and you gave it. So exciting it was. Pity we never got the chance to butt heads again. I would have severely enjoyed it.

Of course she had no grudge against him. She came out on top of the whole game.

Yet she saluted him.

Wanted another chance to have a round with him.

"Blasted Woman," he mutters, using his title for her. "You're still working your tricks and you're dead."

"How is she doing that?"

Sherlock looks away to see John at the entrance. How long had he been in here? How much did John hear?

"Lestrade told me. He let me go after that, figured I'd come here," he says coming further in, wincing a little. Sherlock notices he's moving slowly, his right leg bothering him. Not the psychosomatic limp... he banged it hard on the coffee table.

"You should be at the flat, resting."

"So should you." He glances over at the still form of Irene. "So, why are you accusing her of working her tricks on you?"

"How much did you overhear before announcing yourself?" Sherlock asks curiously.

"Just the bit towards the end. Why are you accusing her?"

Sherlock hands the letter over to him, rather reluctantly. It saves time from having to explain.

John gives him a quizzical look and reads it.

Then he laughs at the end.

"What is so funny?"

John takes a breath, cutting off his chuckles. "Nothing, come on. We should get back to the flat. We both need rest, more than what we got."

Sherlock mutters about not needing rest, and then shuts up as they leave, when John threatens to sedate him if he doesn't.

When they get in the cab, Sherlock looks over the letter one more time.

"Annoying," he says folding it up.

"Are you going to admit it or not?"

"Admit what?"

John shakes his head. "Face it. You're letting it go, just like she told you to."

"Oh shut up."

John just grins, and settles in his seat.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Outside the Mortuary<strong>

**Time: 11:08 am**

* * *

><p>Dark brown eyes, cold and hard, had watched the two men emerge from the mortuary. They followed him getting into the taxi. They could not see the conversation, but the shorter of the two of them, the blonde one, smiled.<p>

Doctor John Watson. Former Captain of the Royal Army Medical Corps.

Now faithful guard dog of Sherlock Holmes.

A smile curves upward.

A mobile rings, and the dark brown eyes look away from the taxi, now nearly out of sight. and down at the number being blocked.

"Hello?"

"Did you see them?"

"I did."

"Did you get the information?"

"I did. I know what I'm doing, you idiot."

"Just confirming," the male voice on the end says irritably. "I'm on my way to see him."

"How is he?"

"Still healing of course. The doctors say it should be another month, maybe two, until he's able to get up and walk around. He says if you have completed your assignment by the time I called, for you to come back."

"I have. Sherlock Holmes has nearly recovered. John Watson has."

"Good."

"I think I'm going to watch them for a few more days. Get a feel. It'll be useful in the future."

"I'll tell him."

"He won't mind. The more information I gather, will make it all the more fun for him."

The voice on the other end chuckles, and the call ends.

The mobile is pocketed.

Time to go to work.


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.**

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12- A Decision Is Made<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Date- September 3rd, 2010**

**Time: 6 pm**

* * *

><p>Sherlock eyes the lease on the desk in front of him. He had dug it out from the mess that cluttered it. Most of it his, of course. But he has his system, so he knows where everything is.<p>

Still does not stop John from fussing.

Sherlock stretches both his arms, enjoying the movement. He was finally rid of the sling, and it was nice to be free. He played his violin earlier, the strength back in his arm.

The violin playing helped organize his thoughts. He needed to organize them.

His mind hadn't been this chaotic since the last time he detoxed.

Sherlock's mind starts to wander over to that hidden spot... where the reminder is.

He's been clean since September of 2005. Technically clean during his last rehab stint, but officially completely clean for almost five years now.

Now and then the urge, the itch, the demand to use that bit he has in his hidden spot, crawls into his mind, under his skin.

He only has it as a reminder. A reminder that if he does use it, he is not in control of his own body and mind. That everything he worked hard to put into place will fall apart.

When he was younger, he thought he had control over his transport. That the cocaine did not control him.

It was one of the rare time he had ever been so completely wrong.

Sherlock knows better now. Being clean has helped him far more than ever. Yes, not using of course makes things harsher, brighter for him. When he used, he could still see the things no one else could, it just wasn't as harsh. Everything now is just in higher definition than before.

John wanted to know about his past drug use.

Sherlock hasn't told him about it. The night John brought it up, Sherlock countered, saying he would only talk about it, if John would talk about Afghanistan. He balked, just like Sherlock knew he would.

Although, he has an idea that John would understand. John understands better than most do. Even if he can be quite the idiot at times, at least he tries not to be one.

Sherlock looks away from the hidden spot, and looks for his violin, as his thoughts threaten to overwhelm him, and also to drive that blasted need for his old vice away.

John was at surgery, filling in for someone else, and he couldn't voice his thoughts to John even if he was available, or distract him.

Thoughts that centered on Moriarty. His work. On John himself.

The incident at the hotel kept on flashing in his mind. How John stepped directly in front of him when the gun was directly at him.

How John told Sherlock to run when Søndergaard rushed him.

Again.

It was like the pool all over again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>April 6th, 2010<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>"Take it," Sherlock demands to Moriarty, holding out the memory stick, trying to stay calm. But the calm won't come. John is there, with that bomb vest on.<strong>_

_**This hadn't gone the way he planned. He wanted John out of the way, to be safe. He just wanted to get the two of them out of there.**_

_**Where was his cool calm? His legendary focus? He couldn't focus. Not since John stepped out.**_

_**"Hmm? Oh that." Moriarty steps forward. "The missile plans." He takes the stick, kissing it. Sherlock's relieved. Until; "Boring," Moriarty sings, "I could have gotten them anywhere," he adds gleefully, tossing it into the pool.**_

_**John rushe forward, grabbing Moriarty. "Sherlock, run!"**_

_**Moriarty laughs in surprise, but is delighted. Sherlock's stomach turns. He can't run. He can't leave John. "Good," Moriarty crows. "Very good!"**_

_**"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr Moriarty," John says heatedly, "then we both go up."**_

_**No, no, no. Why are you doing this John? Why?**_

_**Sherlock wants to stay calm, keep his focus, but he can't force it out for the life of him. This is completely out of his area.**_

_**"Isn't he sweet," Moriarty drawls condescendingly. "I can see why you like having him around, then people do get so sentimental about their pets. And so touchingly loyal..."**_

* * *

><p>Sherlock clenches his jaw. It's the first time he let the memory play out. Every other time he ruthlessly shoved it in the recesses of his mind.<p>

His mind wouldn't delete it.

He couldn't delete it.

It infuriated him every time he heard the word "pet". He didn't like being angry. He needed to be calm, focused, intent on the task at hand. He couldn't risk caring. Caring wouldn't help them. Caring would save the victims...

* * *

><p><em><strong>April 2nd, 2010<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>"There are lives at stake!" John says angrily, his voice rising. "Sherlock, actual human lives. Just so I know, do you care about them at all?"<strong>_

_**He doesn't understand. So far John has understood most of who Sherlock was, but he would not understand this part of him.**_

_**"Will caring about them help save them?" Sherlock asks coolly.**_

_**"No."**_

_**"Then I'll continue to not make that mistake," Sherlock says firmly. Caring affects the focus. Affects how he can see the things no one else can. He wouldn't be able to do his job properly.**_

_**"And you find that easy, do you?"**_

_**I have to, it's the only way to properly do my work.**_

_**"Yes, very." The look on John's face makes his stomach flip. "Is that news to you?"**_

_**"No, no," John responds, and there's something in his tone.**_

_**Disappointment.**_

_**He's disappointed in me.**_

_**"I've disappointed you," Sherlock states, inwardly surprised.**_

_**"It's good," John says tightly. "Good deduction, yeah."**_

_**Sherlock hears the insult, but he knows John is mad. But again, John would not understand.**_

_**So he says the only thing he knows that will make John back off.**_

_**"Don't make people into heroes, John. They don't exist and if they did, I certainly wouldn't be one of them."**_

* * *

><p>Sherlock, for all his intelligence, practicality, focus, drive, and ability to see just about everything (There's always that one thing), did not predict how getting John to agree to be his flatmate would come to this. Come to him coming along on his cases, to becoming a friend, to doing what he did at the pool.<p>

Just admit it, Sherlock tells himself annoyed at how his mind was going around the important fact. All the facts showed it.

Badgering him to eat and drink, convincing him to bring him along on the cases in case he need someone to watch his back, willingly becoming a sounding board to help organize his thoughts when chaotic, the conversations they had in between cases, (Where Sherlock revealed things about himself that he never told anyone, even though John still didn't know a lot about his life), that he didn't mind John's attempts to educate him on proper social norms, that Sherlock could be himself without having to hear censure (And if John did, he did it without judgement except that talk about whether or not caring about the victims helped.. but he didn't blame John for that really), that John actually killed two people to defend Sherlock, and would have killed a third...

John somehow inexplicably did something that no one else has come close to doing.

John became a friend. An actual friend. More so than the one friend he made in college.. and that friend got him onto cocaine.

John somehow forged a place in Sherlock's life.

That night at the pool sealed it. When he first appeared, acting like he was Moriarty, Sherlock couldn't process it. His mind refused to process what he was seeing. That he had been played, manipulated, betrayed.

He felt hurt, honest hurt.

Then the reveal of the bomb. Jim Moriarty.

John was still John.

He hadn't betrayed Sherlock.

In fact he attempted to sacrifice his life for him.

No one ever done that.

And by rights, John should never have done it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>April 6th, 2010<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>He rubs his head with the gun, a small voice in the back of his mind telling him that doing that is rather stupid, but he ignores it.<strong>_

_**The bomb vest is off John, thrown down further away from them. John is okay. Moriarty left.**_

_**John's attempted sacrifice replaying in his head.**_

_**"Are you okay?"**_

_**"Me?" Sherlock starts, rubbing the back of his head with the gun. "Yeah, fine, fine, fine." No he's not. He's not fine. "That, uh, thing that you," His voice wasn't working properly, his throat clogging up, "that you did, that you offered to do, that was um.. good."**_

_**Good? What the bloody hell kind of thing to say is that?**_

* * *

><p>Sherlock stops his pacing, and sits down, his stomach tight.<p>

It all went to hell after that. Moriarty came back after they said a couple more things, saying they had to die, they could not continue, all that.

The memory of what happened is still hazy, still not complete. He doubts it ever will be. He didn't set the bomb off though... he was sure of that... he got a shot off at Moriarty, and then everything just went to hell.

The body that was found... it was said to be Moriarty. But Sherlock... he knew it wasn't.

Lestrade knew. Deep down John knew.

He's out there. Probably injured, worse than he and John were, biding his time. He had help getting out of there. Special private facility or home care at a place far away from England.

He's somewhere out there, and no doubt knows that Sherlock and John are still alive.

He'll get his revenge.

Unfortunately, while Sherlock doesn't know when that would be, or what the method will be, he knows how...

* * *

><p><strong>April 6th, 2010<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>"Do you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock? To you?" Moriarty says casually.<strong>_

_**"Oh let me guess, I get killed?" Obvious. Boring. He didn't expect to get such a boring answer.**_

_**Moriarty looks surprised at that. "Kill you? No, don't be obvious. I mean I'm going to kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no no. If you don't stop prying..." The affable nature of the psychopath in front of him disappears and his dark eyes go cold as he stares at him with fury. "I will burn you. I will burn... the heart out of you," he says furiously.**_

_**He doesn't dare look at John. He doesn't know why, but it seems Moriarty knows something he hasn't figured out yet. He tries to counter.**_

_**"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."**_

_**"But we both know that's not quite true," he says smugly. His just glances a little away, his look slyly implicating about the man strapped to a bomb behind him.**_

* * *

><p>Sherlock's mind threatens to crash, threatens to be overwhelmed with all of this. He reaches down and grabs the violin.<p>

He need to think calmly, rationally. He takes out the bow, places the edge of the violin under his chin. Takes a deep breath.

Calm.

Calm.

He closes his eyes, and starts to play.

The music coming from his playing washes over him, like a soother, calming him. The pit in his stomach lessens.

He has to be calm when he talks to John. When he tells him of the decision he made.

It was for their own good. For both of them.

He plays for a little longer, and when he finally feels relaxed, he stops.

Opens his eyes.

And hears sounds in the kitchen.

What-

Sherlock starts, twisting in his chair to see John in the kitchen.

"When did you get in?" Sherlock asks, a bit sharp.

John looks over at him. "About ten minutes ago. I said your name, but you were quite intense with the playing, thought it best I'd leave you to it."

"Oh." Sherlock shakes his head, and puts the bow and violin away.

"Want some tea?"

"Not right now, no." He stands, running a hand through his hair, finding himself a bit anxious now.

He shouldn't be.

This is the only logical conclusion he could come to.

John comes into the sitting room with his own cup, and sits down at the desk. He frowns as he spots the lease.

"Sherlock, what's this?"

"The lease."

"The lease I had to corner you into signing?"

Sherlock nods.

"Why is it out?"

"Mrs Hudson had it redrawn at my request," Sherlock says quickly. Maybe this will go quicker and easier than he thought.

"Redrawn?" John frowns, setting his mug down and he starts to read the lease.

Sherlock watches his expression carefully. The confusion first appears, but then it disappears, and almost a bland mask descends over John's features.

"This has been redrawn for one person."

"Yes, I know."

John stares at him. "You want me to move out?"

Sherlock swallows. This business with caring is difficult. The only other person he cared about (and still cares for) is his Mother. Mycroft.. he tolerates when he has to.

"I think it would be for the best," he says stiffly. "I know a place that will be suitable for you. It'll be closer to the clinic too."

"How long have you been stewing on this?"

"Not exactly stewing-"

"How long Sherlock?" John asks sharply.

Sherlock blinks at the tone. "A few weeks now. I just put it into place over the course of the past few days."

"I see. And you didn't bother to come to me about this? You didn't come to me about whatever problem you were having with me as a flatmate, so we could iron it out?"

Sherlock frowns. "There's nothing that needs to be ironed out. You haven't done anything. This is simply just the best course of action."

"What about your cases? When you decide to go back to taking them that is, instead of doing endless research on Moriarty."

Sherlock ignores the part about Moriarty. "As for that, I think you would be more content of course finding full time work in your specialty."

"Ohhh, I see."

"Oh good, you follow." That was easy.

"No! No I do not follow, Sherlock. What is this all about? The truth, now."

Sherlock keeps his eyes level with John and says what needs to be said.

"We need to end our association with each other."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Apologies, this is apparently going to be split into a two parts, otherwise it's going to be one loooooong epilogue.<strong>


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.**

**Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take**

**Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship**

**Warnings: Language, Death.**

**Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.**

**Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them. **

**Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13- A Bond That Goes Deeper Than Friendship<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Date- September 3rd, 2010**

**Time: 8 pm.**

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry," John says slowly, "can you repeat that?"<p>

"Oh don't be obtuse. You heard what I said," the crazy genius says irritably.

"I hear you talking some craziness," John has no idea where this all came from. But he's going to get to the bottom of this. "You want us to end all association with each other? For me to stop helping with your cases, and to move out. Why?"

"Why are you asking?" Sherlock looks confused. "I thought you would not have a problem with it. You get to live your life without the hectic demands that mine bring on me. Do you honestly like me playing my violin at three in the morning, or when I go for days not saying anything, or the fact I never do the shopping, or I leave things all over? Or have heads in the fridge?"

"That last one there, I don't really care for," John admits. "But I've given up trying to get you to do the shopping, you won't do it. When you are playing well, it helps me get back to sleep. Only when you're playing purposely bad it's annoying. The not talking bit.. it can get unsettling sometimes, but I've learned to handle it."

"John, you are not happy here."

"Don't tell me what I am or am not," John says sternly. "I am happy here. It's crazy, it's never dull, it has it's quiet moments, but it's not dull. It's home. I am happy living here."

John can see that whatever Sherlock had stored in that brilliant mind of his had not expected John's arguments.

"This is not going the way I thought," Sherlock mutters. "This is the most logical, reasonable thing to do, yet you refuse to do it. Why do you keep being so unpredictable? You are supposed to be predictable."

"Can you just tell me what is going on?" John asks, ignoring the dig.

"You wouldn't understand," he says hastily.

"Oh for God's sake, try me."

Silence. Then; "Because it's too dangerous John!"

Somehow, this sounds like one of their usual arguments they've gotten into in the past. Although John's usually the one on the recieving end of Sherlock's rebuttals, insults and sarcasm. This has gotten switched up.

"I've survived living with you for... I moved in January 31st.. so we're into seven months now. I do agree it's a bit dangerous at times, especially with your experiments-"

"This has nothing to do with my experiments. It's too dangerous for you. It is too dangerous for you to continue associating with me."

There's a sense of desperation in Sherlock's words there. John hears it.

"How?" John asks quietly.

Sherlock inhales, and drops down into the chair next to him. "Moriarty," he says softly.

_Now we're getting somewhere._

"Ah." John nods. "So are we finally going to talk about what happened then? Because you've been avoiding it for ages."

"He's alive," Sherlock says dully.

"Yes, I imagine he is. Someone must have gotten him out, planted the burned body."

"He's going to get his revenge." His tone is flat now.

John nods. "Thought as much."

"You remember how he said he would? If I didn't stop prying?"

John frowns. "Honestly? No. That night at the pool... A lot happened. My memory isn't as good as yours."

"I remember what he said."

"Of course you do."

"He said; "If you don't stop prying, I'm going to burn you," Sherlock recites, his eyes distant now. " He said 'I'm going to burn the heart out of you.' "

John stays silent, just nods.

"Of course I made that comment about not having one."

"Sounds like you."

"His response rebutted that. '**"**But we both know that's not quite true,' is how he answered." Sherlock then looks at John. He swears the man looks resigned. "Then he made the slightest indication towards you."

_Oh. Well..._

"He was right."

"Right about what exactly?"

Sherlock exhales. "You remember our conversation during the pips? After the old lady died?"

John grimaces, remembering it clearly. Not the best conversation they had. "I remember."

"I can't bring myself to care about the victims, John. Caring gets in the way," Sherlock says simply. "It prevents me from adequately focusing, looking for the clues that are needed, to see the things that everyone else misses. I cannot do my job if I care about the victims. The criminals go free if I cannot do my job. I have to be free of emotion."

A memory surfaces then. Almost painfully. The pool. Sherlock looking shocked and distressed, hurt even, when John first steps out. Angry when John reveals the bomb.

Constantly looking over at him, his attention divided, uneven, not focused.

Sherlock panicking. He never panics. But he was panicking as he ripped off the bomb vest from John.

_"All right? Are you all right?"_

Oh.

_Ohhhhh._

It's like a light-bulb just switched on.

John stares at Sherlock. He's leaned forward in the chair, head hanging as he has his hands clasped on the back of his head, looking like a man that has far too much weight on his shoulders.

Sherlock wants John to move out, to stop helping with the cases, to cease all association with him to protect him from Moriarty's revenge.

Sherlock cares about him.

John should be upset that he's being thought as a way to get to Sherlock. He should be angry that Moriarty would use him to hurt Sherlock.

But.. he's not. Strange.

"So, I'm your heart then, am I?" John asks amused.

"It is not amusing," Sherlock snaps, not looking up.

"In a way it is."

"No, it's not."

"From your point of view, I can see that."

"Can you?" Sherlock asks sharply, dropping his hands and looking up at him, his cool blue eyes burning.

"Yes," John says simply. "You see emotion as a weakness. I understand, honestly, I do. Caring prevents from focusing on finding the ones that hurt the victims. So, I'll just do the caring for you. After all, I am your heart," he adds, smiling.

"Don't joke about this John, it is not a laughing matter!"

"No, no it's not. Well, sort of. On one hand it is. The other hand it's not. But I have to look at it both ways. It's nice to know that the caring is reciprocated."

Sherlock pauses. "Pardon?"

"Sherlock, I care about you."

Sherlock stares about him. "How?"

"I don't know how. You're an arrogant git, lazy, self entitled, you have a superiority complex, you never do any cleaning, your moody, you shoot the walls when you're bored-"

"Better than shooting up cocaine, which would you have me do?" Sherlock says shortly.

John blinks at that. The topic of his drug use doesn't come up very much between them. In fact hardly at all. What he knows comes from basic information that Lestrade told him, and that Sherlock calmly admitted he did cocaine. Then told John if he wanted to know more, he would have to tell Sherlock about Afghanistan.

"Er right, well um.. well, we'll get back to that in a minute. But as I was saying, you are one of the most aggravating, self entitled gits I have ever met."

"I don't see how this tells me why you care about me."

"Neither do I.. somehow I just do. I like you too, when you're not annoying me, or leaving heads in the fridge, or insulting my blog."

"John... I can't have you-"

"If this is your way of being magnanimous, then you can shove it, Sherlock," John says bluntly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not moving out, I'm not going to stop helping you with your cases. I don't care if you think this is for my own good. I'm an adult."

"I'm not going to have you get killed because-"

"What? Because some madman has some a serious obsession with you? Because he considers me a weakness of yours?" John shakes his head. "No, I'm not a weakness. You are not weak because you care about me Sherlock."

"Why are you fighting this?" Sherlock asks bewildered. "How can someone who can be predictable nearly all the time, have such unpredictable moments? First you trying to sacrifice yourself at the pool, telling me to run. Then you put yourself in harms way with Søndergaard... you keep putting yourself into situations where you might die. I am not worth dying for John!"

John remembers what he said to Søndergaard

_"You're willing to die, for him?"_

_John doesn't flinch. "Yes."_

_"You're a fool," Søndergaard says bluntly. "To be willing to die for someone else."_

_"If that someone else is worth it, then I hardly think I'm a fool." John counters._

"You are worth it, Sherlock."

"Don't go sentimental on me," Sherlock says coldly, although John can see his hands shaking a little.

"Sherlock, you don't get it do you? For someone so incredibly brilliant, you are completely stupid about this."

"I am not stupid."

"About this, yes you are. Sherlock, I want you to listen to me. Face me. This is important."

Sherlock stubbornly looks out into the kitchen.

"It's time you face the facts," Ah there, he's looking at him now. Glaring. But then he's not surprised. "I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere. My place is with you, Sherlock. By your side."

"You stay by my side, you die." Sherlock says flatly.

"So you want me out of your life, so you no longer have to worry about me? So you can stop caring, and become even more an rude arse to people. That's it, isn't it? You never came to care about anyone else, consider anyone else a friend, and now that you have considered me to be a friend, I'm in the line of fire. Well, I have to say, that's something I'm used to."

"John-"

"Sherlock," John interrupts another protest. "I got a glimpse of an idea of what I was getting into when we first met. You laid out piece of my life in your lab, dashed off the address to where we will meet, you name, winked, called out afternoon to Mike Stamford, then left in a matter of a couple minutes. It was further laid out when we chased after the taxi. My fate was sealed the moment I shot that cabbie only twenty four hours after meeting you. How many people would kill for someone just twenty four hours after knowing them? And then, after seeing how you are, I moved in. Most people would have moved out after a week, but no, I am still here. Through the black moods, the childlike fits, the body-parts in the fridge, the shooting the wall, the running around like mad and being woken up at 3 am. I haven't even listed it all, and it would take me all night to do so. Simply put, I am here. I am not going to go anywhere. Just like how Donovan can't get rid of you, you can't just simply get rid of me."

Sherlock stares at him, and John thinks he actually made the man speechless.

First time for everything.

John moves his chair forward, to get a bit closer to Sherlock. "Sherlock," he says quietly, "we don't have a normal friendship. No one can have a normal friendship with you," he notices a corner of Sherlock's mouth curve upward just a little. "What we have is more than friendship." In truth John doesn't know what to classify what they have. They bonded through fire so to speak, and the bonds tightened that night at the pool. Sherlock, deep down inside, obviously feels that bond, and not sure how to handle it, this argument was his attempt to cut it.

"This isn't something that can be easily severed," he continues, his voice quiet, but firm. "You can't delete this. What you and I have been through since meeting each other... this thing between us.. I've only ever seen it happen between soldiers in the battlefield. We have our own battlefield that we navigate through here in London, and now there's a far more deadly enemy out there waiting in the wings to strike. Sherlock, this is a battle you cannot go through alone. I **won't** let you walk through this battlefield alone. Whether you like it or not, I am going to walk with you. By your side. Where I belong."

John pauses, his gaze never wavered from Sherlock as he said his piece. He could see the wheels spinning in that brilliant, always thinking, never shut off mind. Trying to come up with a counter, a rebuttal. Trying to refuse.

"I suggest you get used to it," John adds for good measure, then decides to use a saying of Sherlock's. "Accept it. After all, it is the only logical conclusion one came to with all the facts."

A smile this time.

"Is that so?" Sherlock says in a slight drawl.

"Just so."

"I see." Sherlock sighs. "So I'm stuck with you, am I?"

"Fair trade, since I'm stuck with you." John's relieved he won this round, though he knows many more will be coming.

"One would say you have gone completely round the bend."

"People will say what they want. We both know the facts."

"True."

"So, with that utter nonsense, as you would say, out of the way, I just have one question."

Sherlock smiles. "Yes?"

"Tea?"

* * *

><p><em><strong> To Be Continued in The Hounds Of Baskerville...<strong>_

**Author's Note: Okay, so I intended to have a conversation about Sherlock's drug use, and John's Afghanistan days between the two of them come up in this story, but it didn't happen. These two had to have their own different conversation. And I don't see the point in doing another chapter, because the story is pretty much done. So, I imagine, if these utterly fascinating and frustrating men will cooperate, their stories will emerge in my take on The Hounds of Baskerville and bReichenbach Falls.**

**Also, I hope these last two chapters didn't give come across as too over the top. Or out of character. I kept on thinking as I was writing this story, and having the show play in the background, that Sherlock would come to realize in some way that John was different than everyone in his life. That John somehow crept past that cool exterior. And with Moriarty obviously threatening John, Sherlock would realize he didn't want John's death on his hands, conscience, so he would try to give John an out. Of course John is John. He wouldn't take the out. He'd force Sherlock to see the depth of their friendship.**


End file.
